


Harry Potter and the Boy on the Train

by ProfessorDrarry



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter Friendship, F/M, Friendship/Love, Gen, Good Draco Malfoy, Hogwarts Era, Hogwarts Express, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, There might be some slash, there is also HET
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-09-02 15:42:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 69,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8673031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfessorDrarry/pseuds/ProfessorDrarry
Summary: What happens if Harry Potter finds the Malfoys at King's Cross instead of the Weasleys? What happens if another young boy--who is also slightly apprehensive about what awaits him at this mysterious, magical school--finds comfort in this strange, clueless famous kid? What happens if instead of hate, friendship blossoms? AU, Hogwarts, snapshots from each year.





	1. First Year

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Smokezombie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smokezombie/gifts).



 

Harry Potter was doing his best not to panic. He looked around him at the crowded train station, and told himself that he was smart enough to figure this out. He hadn't survived eleven years with the Dursley's by panicking at the slightest hiccup. He had to figure something out; and soon, he realised, glancing up at the large clocks all around him.

Hagrid must have forgotten to tell him what to do, like tapping the brick in Diagon Alley. He strode towards the barrier between platforms nine and ten again, and considered his options. He could ask a guard, but he figured he'd likely seem mental and be escorted off the property. He could miss the train, and hope someone at school noticed, but then, he had no idea where he would go in the meantime. Hedwig hooted softly in her cage, and Harry turned toward her. Which meant he noticed three people striding toward him, wearing long black robes. 

 _Robes._ He listened hard.

"I don't see why we had to come this way, through all the filthy _muggles_. We could have flooed there and been in Hogsmeade in a _snap,_ " a tall blond man, wearing a very familiar sneer, was walking quickly toward Harry and speaking very loudly.

"Lucius, dear," said the rail thin woman at his side. She was quite starkly beautiful, with hair so blond it was almost white, and a face that was both crystalline and bold. She sighed wearily. "Do _shut up._ Draco was hardly going to miss his first train ride with his peers. Think of the opportunities he'd miss, the connections."  
  
"I _suppose,_ " the man responded, looking down at a very familiar looking boy who hung onto his mother's arm cautiously.  
  
Harry startled. He realised a few things quite quickly and all at once; one, that this was clearly the boy he had unpleasantly met in the robe shop just a few days earlier. Two, those people he was walking with were clearly his family, and they were clearly as unpleasant as the boy himself. And three, that he was quickly going to have to get over himself and ask them for help, or else he'd have to resign himself to getting back to Little Whinging. He shuddered,then strode forward carefully, trying to square his shoulders and move quickly but without causing alarm.

"Er…sorry to…interrupt. Only, I'm not sure…"  
  
The tall man looked down his nose at Harry, and he was immediately transported back to Madam Malkin's a few days before. Clearly, there was a familial reason for the pale boy's sneer. Oddly, though, the boy looked at Harry and broke into a hesitant smile. Clearly, he remembered their interaction slightly differently than Harry did.

  
"I remember you. Where is your giant friend?"  
  
Harry wanted to hear malice behind the boy's words, but it seemed to be missing, and he really did need help.

"He...he had to get back to Hogwarts, and now I don't know exactly how I'm supposed to get on the train. I'm Harry, by the way. Harry Potter."  
  
The entire family before him did a very muted, dignified, but very clear, double-take. It was like all three of them simultaneously realised that they were going to have to help this messy, shaggy haired boy.

"Goodness, I didn't realise when I met you before."  
  
"Met him _before,"_ the tall man sneered. "Draco, _dear boy_ , you were remiss in not introducing yourself once before, let's correct this now."  
  
There was such a chill in the tone of this man's voice that Harry nearly physically shuddered. He questioned his reaction to the pale boy from before; it was nothing compared to this man, who was most certainly his father, and he felt a tiny pulse of sympathy. After all, he knew what it was like to be related to slightly crappy people. The boy straightened perceptibly, and stuck out his hand.

"Apologies, Mr. Potter. I am Draco _Malfoy_ ," he said, as though this should mean something significant to Harry. "These are my parents, Lucius and Narcissa. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Um, good to meet you."  
  
"You may of course join us, Mr. Potter, as we go to the train. Simply watch, my husband will go first," said Narcissa Malfoy, smiling in a way that might have once been warm, but that now appeared limp and not quite real. Plastic.

Harry nodded lightly, and Mr. Malfoy lifted one eyebrow at him, before swishing his robes around him and striding forcefully at the barrier. Harry watched with shocked confusion, but all the blond hair and swishing robes of the man in front of him instantly disappeared behind the boundary.  
  
"Draco, you next. Mr. Potter shall follow you. Take your trolley," Mrs. Lucius said calmly.

Draco strode forward into the barrier too, and disappeared.

"Now you, Mr.-"  
  
"It's Harry," he interrupted. "Er, thanks."  
  
He pushed his trolley into the wall, bracing himself and trying not to run so he didn't look foolish. Something about these Malfoy people seemed to regal, so refined, that he felt large, and clumsy, and ridiculous in front of them. They only increased his sense of unease, and his mind kept replaying the conversation in the robe shop. _They shouldn't let the other sort in…not brought up to know our ways._ Malfoy may not know it, but he already hated Harry. He'd said so himself. 

He was both shocked and not at all surprised when he came through the boundary, followed closely by Narcissa Malfoy, and found himself on a large, crowded platform, a giant steam engine puffing into the air in front of them. He felt himself take a sharp breath, largely against his will.

"Pretty cool, eh?" Draco said sheepishly.

"Yeah," Harry replied, guarding himself for the next uncomfortable conversation. Draco frowned at him. "Er, thanks."  
  
Harry started to walk toward the train, looking through the windows and trying to find an empty compartment. The train was very busy. He felt, rather than saw, that Malfoy followed behind him. He heard Lucius call after his son, 'remember what I said, Draco.'

Draco did not reply.

Finally, Harry found a compartment with no other students in it, and hoisted his trunk into it, going back for Hedwig and finding Draco staring up at the empty compartment longingly

"Train's really full," he whispered.  
  
Harry sighed, "it's fine."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Whatever."  
  
Draco shrugged and dragged his own, very dignified trunk up the stairs behind Harry. He sat across from Harry silently, not looking at him. He didn't say a word as the train's whistle blew, as they started to move forward. Harry squirmed for a moment, trying not to open his mouth and get himself into trouble, but eventually, his anger got the better of him. 

"You know, you were wrong. I don't think that there should be a type of person they let into Hogwarts."  
  
"What. I-Potter, what-"  
  
"In the robe shop. You said. I just thought you should know that I don't agree. I didn't grow up with…I grew up with, um, Muggles. And I had never heard about Hogwarts. And I didn't…grow up to know your 'ways'. And I don't know exactly what you _meant_ , but people keep telling me I'm pretty famous, and your dad seemed pretty impressed to meet me, and I just thought you should know that I'm that sort of person that you didn't want to go to school with."  
  
Draco stared at Harry, mouth hanging open, and said nothing. He said nothing for so long that Harry stopped looking at him, and turned instead to watch the beginnings of London pass him by swiftly in the window. He decided he would just sit here, in silence. He was sure that he didn't need this sort of friend. The one who made sort of mean, definitely callous comments to random strangers, and then didn't remember them.  
  
Suddenly, Draco cleared his throat.  
  
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I…I didn't mean to…I'm just sorry. Mother says that I speak without thinking so often that I should just put my brain into storage."  
  
"Well," Harry began. But he smiled suddenly. No one had ever apologised to him before. It was an odd feeling. He thought for a second. "Hey, what did your father mean, when he said remember what he said?"  
  
Draco sighed so heavily, and so much older than he was, that Harry's head snapped back from the window to look at him. A dark expression had settled across Draco's face.

"My _father_ ," Draco sneered. "Believes it would be _prudent_ if I were to remain _cordial_ with you, in the interest of  making the _right kind_ of friends at Hogwarts."  
  
There was so much contempt in his voice that Harry immediately snickered. Which seemed to confuse Draco slightly, who looked up, and smiled cautiously back at him. He clearly hadn't meant to be funny, but soon, they were both giggling slightly.

"I mean, I can be 'cordial' too, but I think it'd be better if we both started making some friends, don't you? I'm going to need all the help I can get. I didn't even know what Quidditch was!"  
  
This made Draco laugh even more, and soon, they were both manically laughing until Harry couldn't breathe.

"The thought…" Draco choked out. "Of the Boy Who Lived…not knowing Quidditch…Oh my god, my sides hurt."  
  
At that very moment, there was a gentle knock at the glass compartment door. A scraggly, red-headed boy poked his head inside. His nose was covered in what appeared to be soot, and the collar of his jumper was all off kilter. 

"Mind if I sit here? Everywhere else is full?"  
  
Draco sobered immediately, his sneer back on his face with lightening like speed. Harry looked at him oddly. It was very confusing, seeing these different masks of a person he barely knew. It was like Malfoy was very well trained to see through a very specific lens.  
  
"Well, if you aren't a _Weasley,_ I'll eat my robes," he scoffed.  
  
Harry interjected, "Of course you can sit here, can't he, _Draco_?"  
  
He gave Draco a pointed glare. Who glared right back, but nodded at the boy, who immediately settled down beside Harry.

"Ron Weasley," he said, sticking his hand out toward Draco, who shook it, a bit reluctantly, introducing himself. Ron turned to Harry. Harry shook his hand enthusiastically, trying to make up for Draco's continued rudeness. If they were going to be friends, which was Harry's plan, he was going to have to get less…snarky. For some reason, Harry knew that this strange, pointy, pale kid needed a solid friend. Much like he did himself. Maybe that was it. He sensed a shared need to just feel _safe_ and _necessary._

"Harry Potter," he said, a little belatedly.

"Blimey! Are you really?"  
  
"er, yeah."  
  
"Sorry. You must hear that a lot. I…scar?"  
  
"Um, yes?" Harry said, lifting his bangs  
  
"Witty. _Scar,_ " Draco laughed, mimicking Ron. Ron looked at him, glared for a second, but then burst out laughing. Try as he might to continue to look lofty and mighty, distant and cold, Harry watched as Draco bit back a smile, and then a laugh, small at first and building slowly. Since he and Harry had just been laughing, it didn't take long before all three of them were laughing again. Crazy, eleven year old laughing, where nothing made any sense and nothing was truly that funny. They laughed for five minutes, ten. Every time they would stop, something would happen that would make them laugh again.

The lady arrived with the trolley of wizarding sweets, and Harry discovered the wonders of chocolate frogs, every flavoured beans, pumpkin juice. He and Draco both had gold, they shared readily with Ron, surprising him slightly (and Harry too, Draco didn't seem the gold sharing type, really). Draco and Ron had a ridiculous, ten minute back and forth about the merits of all the different houses, the balance of which was that Gryffindor and Slytherin were both THE BEST, and the other two houses had their merits but weren't exactly as _amazing_ as Gryffindor/Slytherin. Harry came out of the conversation confused and a tiny bit baffled, but not really caring either way which house he ended up in, since he felt like the entire conversation was completely biased anyway. Draco had given them both a lecture about the different types of wizarding families, which had made Ron start laughing again.  
  
"What?" Draco had cried, seeming genuinely annoyed again.

"You should hear yourself, Malfoy. Honestly. 'Some families are better than others'. As though you're Salazar himself. Lay off. There's only one question anyone need to ask."  
  
"What's that," Draco said, not hiding his anger at all.  
  
"Are you a Cannons fan?"  
  
"I...well, I mean…"  
  
"Well?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Good man. Harry, what's your team?"  
  
"He doesn't know Quidditch," Draco said, his smirk back. He looked at Ron, and they were both off again, and even though Harry knew they were _technically_ laughing at him, hours of laughter, sugar, and general, overwhelming happiness -all new things to Harry -meant that it was only a second before he had joined them again.

Harry was clutching his stomach and rolling around on the seat when there was another knock at the compartment door.

  
"Have you boys seen a toad? I've lost him! Trev--wait, what is so funny."  
  
"No-No idea," Ron gasped between breathes.  
  
There were now two people standing at the door; a round-faced boy looking worried, and an angry looking girl with bushy hair and a stern expression.  
  
"Who are all of you then?" She said, questioning and judging in equal measure.  
  
"Ron."  
  
"Draco."  
  
"Harry."  
  
"Pleasure. Hermione Granger. And this is Neville…er…"  
  
"Longbottom," the round faced boy supplied, still frantically searching the corridor before running off.

"You three should change, you know. I expect we'll be arriving soon," Hermione said primly before flouncing off after Neville, calling 'Trevor' down the corridor.

"Well," Draco said, one eye quirked ridiculously. "She seems a real treat."

* * *

  
An hour later, in robes and finally sobered by sheer awe at the grand castle and grounds before him, Harry was sitting beside Draco in a boat that seemed to be pulling itself over a great, black lake. He was staring around, mouth stupidly hanging open despite the cold, confounded and overwhelmed.

  
"Merlin," Draco said, eyeing him. "You're going to be a lot of work, aren't you?"  
  
Ron sniggered behind them, "It's okay, mate. We'll get you sorted, won't we Malfoy?"  
  
"I suppose so," Draco drawled in what was already a familiar way. "Though I suspect it will be difficult, with you two in Gryffindor, and me in proud Slytherin."  
  
"What makes you think-"  
  
"Oh please, he has Gryffindor written all over him."  
  
"Yeah, you kind of do, mate," Ron said, clapping him on the shoulder.  
  
Harry didn't know what he had written all over him, but he was glad for the semi-darkness. He was pretty sure he was beet red. He'd only left the Dursley's a few days ago, and here he was, already being mocked and called 'mate' in a casual, unsurprised way. He didn't care how his magical life unfolded from here on in; so far, he loved every part of it. He could die, here, if it were necessary.

Of course, they didn't die, and forty minutes later, sitting at a long table with Ron, and also the girl and boy from the train, a banner of gold and red hanging over head, with more food than he had ever seen, Harry had had to reset his boundary for 'best he'd ever felt'. Draco had smirked at him knowingly when he'd ended up in Slytherin, and had clapped loudly when the hat announced that Harry would be a Gryffindor. Harry was pretty sure at least half of the clapping was self-congratulatory, for having correctly predicted the sorting, but he couldn't bring himself to care as he smiled over at his new friend.

As the feast wound down, and Draco listened in slight, embarrassed awe as Dumbledore welcome them all, he looked around at the people before him at his new house table, feeling an odd mix of emotion. He had been imagining this day for ages. Years spent thinking of how his first day as a Slytherin (for there was never a chance of ending up in another house). He anticipated meeting people right away, becoming fast friends. He'd never had friends before. Not really. He had cousins, and he met other children at his mother's clubs, but that wasn't the same. He'd had private tutors since he was five, had never had classmates or playdates. He wasn't like other children, and he felt very shaken by his afternoon spent with Harry and Ron, who mocked him and his pretentiousness, while at the same time making him feel included and a part of the joke. It had unsettled him, and now he was suddenly nervous about the prospect of having to go through his days without having these first contacts.

The thought wearied him. He knew what Hogwarts was like from his Father; allegiences formed quickly. There was no way they would all become actual friends now that they were in different houses, houses that hated each other based on tradition alone. Draco sighed. He was going to have to go to bed, exhausted as he was, and try and make Slytherin friends tomorrow. He followed his new Prefect into the entrance way like all the other first years, and started off after them toward the dungeon dorms.

"Hey, Draco!" he heard called over the general din of the corridor. "Draco, up here!"  
  
He followed the voice with his head, and waved back at a waving Harry, standing on the stairway with Ron.

"Meet us here tomorrow after breakfast? We have charms together!"

Draco tried to suppress his relieved grin as he called back, "Sure!"

Running to catch up to his housemates again, he breathed out a sigh. It seemed that he may be okay, even if he _was_ going to have to teach Potter literally everything about the magical world.

* * *

 Their combined lessons were always more fun than when he had classes with the Slytherins alone. Although Draco was starting to find people he could at least stand to be around in his own house, he was not a trusting person, and it took a while for him to open up and stop sneering at people. He found it easier around the Gryffindors, who weren't cunning enough to always be working an angle, who spoke their minds and were upfront. He and Granger got into regular, friendly battles about the details of History of Magic, much to Ron's dismay. He was easily the best at potions, and he did his best to help Harry when he could without getting caught by Snape, whose immediate dislike of Harry was a source of constant glee for Draco. Mostly because it was so out of the ordinary for the Potter charm to fail that he found it hilarious. It didn't hurt that he was already in with Snape, the familial connection finally working to his favour.

 Most Hufflepuffs were tolerable, for the most part. Far more tolerable than Ravenclaws, who he found annoyingly boastful during Transfiguration.

He tried to be happy for Harry when he ended up on the Quidditch team, but mostly he was jealous. After all, he never would have flown at all if Draco hadn't dared him into a game of chase after Neville had fallen off his broom. Still, there was the benefit of being able to cheer for everyone at games, which made it easier while he sat with the Slytherins. Although, truthfully, they all knew better by now than to make fun of Draco's friendship with the Gryffindor Golden Trio. First of all, no one really wanted to piss Harry Potter off, even if he was proving to be slightly less impressive than the rumours had all said. More importantly though, Draco had nearly attacked his only real Slytherin friend, Pansy Parkinson, when she had muttered something about Hermione being a _mudblood_. Draco had laughed himself silly about his anger later that day; it was ridiculous that he had gotten so mad about a word that, just a few months earlier, was a regular part of his own vocabulary. Still. He was a Slytherin, and a Malfoy. He took care of his own. Hermione Granger included.

Which is why, as annoyed as he was getting with their conversations being constantly centred on the frigging trap door, he was trying to be supportive. That hadn't exactly been the best night of his life (although, in the back of his mind, he kept thinking that maybe it was), and he knew for sure that if it had been a group of Slytherins, they would have dropped it by now and moved on to more interesting endevours. But the Gryffindors were obsessed, and despite himself, he was now a little excited to figure out what was going on in the Castle.

Then of course, he'd followed Hermione through the corridors as she was bawling, clearly upset from something the stupid _boys_ had said again. His protective nature was going to kill him, hanging out with these three; that had been the night they'd ended up fighting the fucking troll.

Through it all, his brain kept helplessly shouting, "Just _wait_ until I tell my father about this!"

Of course, he wasn't going to tell Lucius Malfoy anything. He couldn't imagine how that conversation went, exactly. _Yes, Father. I have been having fun at school, going on ridiculous adventures, breaking fifty school rules, all while hanging out with my half-blood and muggle-born, Gryffindor friends! It's been wonderful, father dearest._ Fat chance. He was already busy making up story after story about what he'd actually been doing, and it was still three days until break. The feast was that night, and he was excited to sit with his friends at their table, the house rules predictably slack at the holidays.

He hated that he was leaving during Christmas. His brain was helpfully reminding him how different home was from Hogwarts; despite being nearly the same size, the mausoleum-like manor contained none of the warmth, none of the floating candles or built up fires, and definitely no piles of sweets helpfully placed at every table. He was losing sleep worrying about how badly it was going to go.

When he collapsed at the library table beside Neville that afternoon, wearily throwing down his bag and sighing dramatically. Ron rolled his eyes.

"What's wrong with you?" he said warily.

"I have to go _home_ , Ron. HOME! Not all of us are excited by that prospect, you know."  
  
"Always the drama with you. Honestly. Besides. Change of plans. I'm staying here."  
  
"Yes," said Hermione. "And you are going to _help_ Harry. Not just be distracting."  
  
"Help him do what?" Draco said, interested all of a sudden.  
  
Harry looked around, then whispered conspirationally, "Hagrid let something slip about the third floor corridor. A name."  
  
Draco sat up, "Wait! You told Neville!"  
  
"Hey!" Neville said, protesting by hitting Draco in the arm.

  
"Well, I just can't believe you told Longbottom before you told _me_ ," Draco huffed.

"He was in the common room when we got back! We hadn't seen you until now," Harry apologised. This was a constant apology between he and Draco. Try as they might to keep him included, the reality was that Draco wasn't always there right when they found things out, and the common room was the easiest place to hide things from teachers and other prying ears. "Anyway, listen. We need to figure out what this means. Nicolas Flamel!"

"Nicolas Flamel?"  
  
"Yes," said Hermoine, whispering fiercely. "We think that whatever the dog is guarding has something to do with him. Trouble is, I have no idea who it is, and I can't find anything about him anywhere! I know the name seems familiar, so the boys are going to spend the holidays looking."  
  
"Well, as thrilling as that sounds, I'm pretty sure that Hagrid was just talking about the Philosopher's stone guy."  
  
"What?!" all four Gryffindors shouted at once.

Draco shook his head. 

"Honestly. What would you do without me. Nicolas Flamel. Rather famous, gloriously old…he has the Philosopher's stone and Elixir of life? Although, no one actually _believes_ that. He's just famous for being really old, so the rumours fly."  
  
"How do you _know_ that?!" Ron cried.

  
Draco quirked an eyebrow at him, "I grew up in a magical household in which I actually _paid_ attention. I mean, Hermione here has an excuse, and Harry obviously. But you two…Honestly."

Hermione and Draco laughed, and Hermione muttered, "Thank God for Draco."

Draco smiled at her. Hogwarts was definitely his favourite place. He could survive break, secure in the knowledge that soon enough, he'd be back here.

Back home.

 


	2. Second Year

"Draco," Lucius said viciously. "Do stop _bouncing._ "

"Sorry, Father," Draco muttered, trying to will his body to stop moving. No matter what he did, however, his feet kept rocking him back and forth. He was simply too…much. Too excited, too nervous, too apprehensive. He was regretting this decision.

Lucius turned to Narcissa, a mean glint to his eye, and Draco braced himself, "Why on _earth_ am I allowing these…people…into our home."

"Because," Narcissa replied, cold and harsh, always capable of giving as good as she got. "They are your son's friends. They are coming to stay for less than one week, and you will be civil and tolerant, or you shall find another wing of the house to reside in for the duration of their time here."

"Yes, but really, Cissa, a _Weasley_. And a Mud-"

"Hush. I mean it, Lucius. A civil. Tongue. Draco dear, do try to relax. There is nothing to worry about. You did want your friends to come visit, yes?"

"Well, I mean. Yes," Draco whispered back to his mother. Although, he thought, when he'd done it, he had neither anticipated them saying yes, nor considered how awkward it was going to be to actually bring them into his home. His staunchly, stuffy, Pure Blood, old family home. But, here he was, waiting on the platform of the Westbury train station for his friends, who'd insisted on meeting in London and then taking a Muggle train. He wanted to laugh, just imagining Ron and Neville trying to blend in with Muggles. Hermione would have to shush them the whole time, and Harry would just be unhelpfully laughing. The thought calmed him down a bit. They were his friends. Just his friends. It was going to be fine.

"Draco, darling, I promise we will stay out of the way. Just…enjoy your last week of summer, would you?"

Draco nodded as the train pulled up.

"Draco!" shouted Ron immediately, making Lucius flinch at the loudness. "You should SEE the toilets on there! Bizarre, mate! Just BIZARRE."

"Ron," Hermione said pleadingly. "Please. Erm, hi, you must be…Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy? I'm…"

She gulped. Draco looked up to find Lucius' face tightly in a grimace, fully looking down his nose at the small girl in front of him.

"Hermione Granger," Draco finished for her. "My father, Lucius. And my mother, Narcissa."

"Pleasure. Nice to see you again, Harry," his mother said, filling the silence. Draco was momentarily awash with love and gratitude for her. "And you must be Mr. Longbottom. You…well you look just like your…"

"Father," Neville finished quietly. He sounded very hesitant to talk to her.

"Yes," Narcissa said, looking embarrassed. "We knew him, of course. And you mother, for a time. Welcome."

"Th-thanks," Neville whispered. Draco was used to Neville being a bit sheepish with adults, who judged him quickly and made him nervous, so that their assumptions were proved correct. But this was different, this reserved whispering boy. He looked at him questioningly, but Neville avoided his eye.

"Ron Weasley," he heard Ron say, in response to his mother's extended hand. "Think you both know my dad, too."

Draco was grateful again, this time for Ron, which shocked him a little. It was no secret that Ron and Draco weren't exactly close; there was a certain level of disdain they had for one another that they put aside in the interest of being friends with Harry, which was a worthwhile cause. Draco gave his head a shake. He needed to get himself under control. He'd gone all soft and sentimental over the months of summer spent alone. He felt like he'd never be used to being alone that much, ever again, now that he was at Hogwarts the rest of his year. He knew, now, how much more fun it was to have comrades, compatriots, partners in crime. He knew what it felt like to never have a moments peace. And the alternative, he decided, was firmly overrated.

"Well," said Lucius primly, speaking for the first time. "Can we please get back, and out of this _muggle throng._ "

They spent the week at the manor in general twelve year old summer activities. They built forts on the grounds, and ran around searching for treasure they all knew did not exist. They made up games and ate all the food the house elves offered (which was rather a lot once they discovered how much Ron could eat). They pretended to go to bed, only to sneak back out when things were quiet. It wasn't hard, since there was next to no supervision in the vast house. A couple of nights, they just played board games, once they raided the cupboards and made 'muffins' (they were definitely not muffins). And a couple of times, they went running through the garden mazes in waning moonlight, screaming and being ridiculous. Draco was shocked when no one tried to stop them.

There was one last night, before they went to London, for Diagon and then the train, and responsibilities. It was a clear, moonless one, and Draco had dragged them all to the west fields with blankets and torches and hot chocolate. Hermione was bundled in Harry's jumper, Neville was wearing a ridiculous bobble hat, and Ron had found a weird, lumpy scarf in the hall closet that was wound all the way down his torso. It wasn't actually that cold, but there was an illicit chill to what they were doing that had them all shivering.

Finally settling in a spot that Draco deemed worthy, they were all laid starfish in a circle, watching the shifting stars. Draco had Neville on one side, Hermione on the other, Ron beside her, Harry in between them. Their natural order, the trio plus two (who may or may not fit in, the jury was still out). Draco liked it. It felt right. It felt safe.

"Another one," Draco said, pointing up unnecessarily.

"Don't know why you keep trying to _show_ us," grumbled Ron. "The whole point of shooting stars is that they are _shooting_."

The others laughed, while Ron kept grumbling.

"Ginny excited, Ron?" Hermione interjected, trying to change the subject.

"Yeah, she didn't shut up about it all summer. They're meeting us there tomorrow with the car."

"Ooh," said Harry. "The car. It flies, Draco. You should see it. They rescued me from the Dursley's last month."

"Don't know why you keep going back there, Hare," Neville said.

"Dumbledore says I have to. I asked. Whatever. We keep doing this at the end of the summer, I can handle a month of _them_."

They fell back into contemplative silence for a moment.

"Neville," Hermione said quietly. "You don't…we never talk about…"

She seemed unable to continue. Neville cleared his throat but didn't say anything. Draco turned his head to look sidelong at him, noticing in the near total darkness that his face was a tad shiny all of a sudden. Draco inhaled, touched Neville's arm, but he didn't look at Draco.

"They were Frank and Alice. Alice was in my mother's year. Longbottom's are…old blood," Draco started. "Mum says that Frank was always very impressive, brilliant at Charms. He became an Auror, after school. Then, during the war…"

Draco choked on his own words. He thought he could get through this story. He knew it unfortunately well. He'd known it the first second he'd met Neville Longbottom. It would be hard to forget his _lovely_ aunt's boasting. His father had always encouraged her, every Christmas, to tell war stories. He'd never really considered, until this moment, how different _his_ family war-stories would differ so significantly from those of his friends.

"They were tortured," Neville whispered, looking at Draco now. "By…some Death Eaters. They…they live at St. Mungo's now. That's why I live with Gran."

"Sorry," Draco said.

"Not your fault."

"But-"

"Draco. Not. Your. Fault."

They fell back into silence, less comfortable, more silent. Draco knew his arms had drifted closer to both Hermione and Neville, maybe too much closer, but he could feel their heat and he decided not to care. Even when Hermione shifted closer and took his hand.

Hermione looked over at him and started to laugh.

"What," Draco said. "Could you possibly be finding funny, Granger?"

"It's just," she said, sobering slightly. "It must really annoy your father that you are friends with us. And that's sort of hilarious, given how much he wants you to be just like him."

Draco sat stunned for a second before replying, "Well, yeah. I guess it is. You piss him off more than they do. More than Longbottom, even, I think."

"Well, obviously," Hermione said, imitating Snape. "What with me being a _filthy mudblood_."

"Hermione!" exclaimed Ron as the others burst into laughter, breaking into the silent night and almost echoing in the stillness. "Where did you even hear that?!"

"Please. I listen in the halls. We have a Slytherin best friend. I hear things."

"Okay," said Harry, sobering through the laughter, the first word he'd said in a while. "Second year pact. Ideas?"

"No drama," said Ron.

"No danger, please. And for the love of god, no more body binds."

"I said I was sorry," Hermione said, reaching over Draco to punch Neville's arm. "Umm…no detentions?"

Draco sniggered, "Fat chance of that. You lot are a _mess_. Let's see…We eat together once a month. Even if it's just lunch."

"Don't know that that needs to part of the pact, mate. You appear whether we want you to or not," Ron said.

"Hey! Leave him be. We get pudding at lunch when he sits with us," Harry joked. "Okay. Last thing. We have to swear to have at least one adventure. I feel like we're going to get so _bored_ this year, compared to last year. Agreed?"

"Agreed," the others chorused.

"It's going to be weird to not have some monstrous animal to worry about, that's for sure," joked Neville.

They all laughed before falling back into silence for a few minutes. It was getting late, they'd have to go inside soon and get at least some sleep. They had so much shopping to do, and Draco was tired just thinking about it.

"Another one," Draco whispered, grinning and pointing.

Ron groaned.

* * *

Draco was aware that he wasn't paying attention. No one could fault him. Lockhart was insufferably stupid. So stupid, in fact, that Draco actually felt bad for him; there was no way he was aware of how ridiculous he always looked, because if he did, surely he'd do something about it. Still, duelling club sounded like a good plan. Almost cool. Which was good, because life was once again dramatic. Stupid pact. Despite the fact that Harry mocked him for it endlessly, he felt like the pact was entirely to blame for this whole business with of the _enemies of the heir._ And the knowledge that Filch was probably a squib.

And the fact that he was pretty sure he was now being stalked by Moaning Myrtle thanks to Harry.

He snapped back to attention when the sleeve of his robe was tugged on heartily. He looked up to find Snape holding him tightly.

"And how about someone from my own house?" he was saying. "Mr. Malfoy perhaps?"

Draco almost laughed out loud.

"Don't actually hurt me," he whispered, bowing in front of Harry.

"Obviously, git."

"Stinging only?"

"If you're lucky."

Except Malfoy was a Slytherin. A Slytherin doesn't always do what he is told. A Slytherin takes the best course of action to achieve what it is he is trying to achieve. And right now, Draco Malfoy's cunning brain was reminding him that continuing to ingratiate himself with Snape was to everyone's advantage. Meaning his goal in this moment had to be to win. Well, that and Hermione had just taught him a new spell

He watched as Harry reeled at the harmless snake, trying not to laugh. But then he felt his blood run cold. The strange sounds coming out of Harry were definitely not part of the plan. They all watched in horror for a moment.

When Snape dissolved the snake and muttered, "Malfoy, with me" he had no choice but to follow. He glared desperately at Hermione, hoping that she, at the very least, would recognise the problem.

"Did you know, Malfoy?" Snape hissed. "Did you know he was a parselmouth?"

"What? No, of course not."

"I know you two are friends"

"Professor, you don't think that Harry-"

"No," Snape spat. "Unfortunately, I do not. But there are those that will."

Draco swallowed lamely, and whispered," I know."

"Can I trust you to protect him?"

Draco's head snapped up.

"Protect him sir?"

"Yes Draco. Take care of him. And his friends."

"Oh... Okay sir."

In theory, he was always trying to take care of all of them. It was who he was. He just wasn't always very good at it, especially when he was also having to spend time in his own common room more regularly in order to stay friends with the few people he'd managed to stay friends with in his own frigging house. It was the safest way to avoid having his stuff disappear or his bed get hexed. By now, Pansy and Blaise were both pretty comfortable with being regaled with tales of the Golden Gryffindors, and they only gently razzed Draco when he gushed about his Friend Harry. They were alright, for the most part. He liked them most days.

Just not quite as much as he liked the Gryffindors.

* * *

Neville was acting strange. Neville, in general, always acted a bit strange, never remembering anything and saying daft things about plants. But when your friend starts disappearing at odd hours, sometimes missing meals or missing class, and looks like he hasn't slept in weeks, there are questions that need to be asked. Since Draco is the only one not so preoccupied with the Chamber of Bloody Secrets to notice, he decides that he is going to have to do the asking. It's utterly ridiculous that he's the only one noticing, since he doesn't live in the Gryffindor tower, but then, the others were always a little bit crappy to Neville. Unintentionally, most of the time; they just sort of took him for granted quite often. Still. He will be the one to say something.

He stopped Neville as they are leaving Potions.

"Longbottom."

"Malfoy."

"You're worrying me. So I'm just going to ask. What are you up to?"

"What...what do you mean?"

"Look, if you know something, you have got to tell me. It was all well and good when it was just Mrs. Norris. But that first year? Who's it going to be next?"

"I don't know what you're talking about Draco. If I knew anything I'd obviously say something…"

"Well, as long as…are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

So Draco decided to drop it. He'd allow Neville his secrets. For now.

But when Hermione ended up petrified, Draco means war. He corners Neville leaving the second floor lavatory and pins him to a wall.

Neville is trembling, close to tears but Draco can't bring himself to back down. He is genuinely scared. It's too close to home this time. He knows how this ended the last time the chamber was opened. And now, Hermione was lying in a bed, unable to help them. How long until someone died? So yes. He was scared.

"Neville, I'm not playing around. I don't know what you're up to, but if you aren't going to tell me, tell Harry. Tell _someone._ "

Neville collapsed under Draco's grasp.

"Help, D. Help me. It's in the bag. My book bag."

Draco pulled out his text books and some loose parchment, until his hand hit black leather, and his mouth fell open. He recognised it immediately. It was the Book That Is Never To Be Touched. It sat in his father's office, in a glass dome, reeking of dark magic and danger. It had been there as long as he can remember, and Draco had only been stupid enough to ask about it once.

"Nev, where did you get this?"

"Ginny...Ginny Weasley had it."


	3. Third Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A tiny bit more AU in this one...In this world, I imagine that Draco would not have felt the need to buy his way onto the Quidditch team, and so in second year, did not play. It may seem a small point, but you might notice. Okay. Onward

 

_Mssr Draco Malfoy, Malfoy Manor, Westbury_

 

_C/O Narcissa Malfoy_

_Draco,_

_Long story, but I'm already in Diagon. I'd tell you all about it, but the ministry is sort of involved, and if it's anything like the Muggle world, I'm pretty sure that's, like, against the rules? Anyway, point is, I'm staying at the Leaky. Get here! Get here YESTERDAY. Sneak into the Floo if you have to! (Don't do that. Your father would hunt me down and finish the job of Vol-HA. You thought I was going to write it. I can practically see your face right now.) COME KEEP ME COMPANY. STUPID RON IS STILL IN STUPID EGYPT. IT'S_ _UNACCEPTABLE_ _. (imagine me talking like you. Ha!)_

_Miss you. But not for long because you'll be here TOMORROW, right?_

_-HP_

* * *

_Mssr Harry J Potter, Not in Little Whinging Where He Ought to Be_

_C/O The Leaky Cauldron_

_You Nutter,_

_I can only imagine what you managed to do to get yourself in trouble with the MINISTRY. In these things I am imagining, it has something to do with your ridiculous Muggle family, and I'm hoping that you hexed them, or at the very least, turned their walls all blue…Anyway, the good news for your boring self is that I bypassed my father, asked my mother, and for some reason, she has agreed that I can stay in Diagon for the week, if I sleep at my cousin Cygnus' flat (he's weird, and ancient. I won't make you hang out with him). So, relax, my hopeless 'lion-hearted friend'. Your far sneakier compatriot will save you the dread of a WEEK UNSUPERVISED IN DIAGON ALLEY. Imagine the things we can do! How are you not seeing how awesome this is?_

_You Nutter._

_See you tomorrow._

_-Draco 'confused-as-to-how-you-have-survived-this-long-alone' Malfoy_

* * *

"RIGHT!" shouted Draco, striding purposefully into the open room of the Leaky, far too loudly for the hour. Everyone looked at him, and he grinned a little sheepishly, clearly realizing that his excitement had become external. "Sorry, er, hiya Harry."

Harry laughed over his eggs, "Hi, Draco!"

"Is it just me, or did this summer feel longer," Draco slung himself down on the chair beside Harry and stole a piece of his toast."

"Definitely. It's good to see you, mate."

"Yeah, yeah. Don't get all sappy on me. Right, as I was saying. We need a plan. What have you been doing?"

"Erm," Harry's face went a little red.

"All you did was buy your school supplies, huh?"

"Well, yeah, but I needed to do that!"

"Harry Potter, you are going to be the death of me! Why are you so boring? Seriously! What is _wrong_ with you. You are a Gryffindor, for Merlin's sake! Okay, finish that. First stop, Fortecue's!"

"What? Draco, it's 10 in the morning."

"You're point? Come on! I haven't had treacle and popping fudge all year! We don't all get to just _hang out_ in Diagon for a week on the ministry's dime."

Twenty minutes later, ice cream in hand, he and Draco wandered the crowded street in bright sun, laughing and trading stories.

"Wait, you have to see the Firebolt," Harry said, dragging Draco by the sleeve toward the shop window he'd been visiting every day. "Can you even imagine? It says ' _inquire'_ about the price."

"Well, did you?"

"No, I don't need it. I have the Nimbus. It's a great broom. It'd be stupid."

"But you can afford it, we both know that."

"I don't need it, Draco."

"Fine, fine. It's pretty cool, though huh? Goblin ironworks…man."

Harry nodded. They stood for a minute, eating and staring in awe.

"Hey, think I might go out for Quidditch this year," Draco said quietly.

"You totally should. You should have last year, but you got so caught up in that...anyway, never mind. We'd play against each other, it'd be hilarious."

"Yeah, well, don't tell anyone. I haven't told anyone else. Not even Father."

"What? Why? Surely that'd be something he'd _love_ for you to do."

"There's no way. He would just buy off the team and then I'd have to deal with that. I just want to try out, like anyone else."

"Well, alright. Secret. But I hope you get it. What are you going to try out for?"

Draco laughed, "Harry. How have we never talked about this? I'm a seeker. I used to play when I was little."

Harry burst out laughing.

"Well, now you _have_ to try out. I'm gonna kick your ass!"

"Harry, _language._ Really, the Boy Who Lived, swearing in the street," Draco laughed with mock horror.

And they were off. Harry didn't stop laughing the rest of the week.

* * *

On the train back to the castle, they barely noticed the strange rumpled man squashed into the end of their compartment. At least, until the total darkness took over the train. Draco immediately panicked. He knew that sensation, the cold and the dread. He knew it uncomfortably well from all those horrible childhood hours spent visiting Aunt Bella.

"Harry," he hissed. "Stop screaming, Harry. It'll only make it worse."

But of course, Harry didn't stop screaming. Or, he did. But it was because he had fainted, which made Hermione scream- a sound that Draco had never anticipated hearing. He stared at her in confusion, Ron froze, and all three of them became immediately useless. Neville was the only one who acted, grabbing Harry's shoulders before his head bounced, and trying to shush Hermione calmly.

A soft, assertive voice spoke from above them. A silvery flash of something large and bounding leapt past Draco's ear and out the door. The gripping fear immediately lessened. This time, when the voice spoke, he actually heard it.

"You there, dear girl. Can you please close the door to the compartment. You two can help me get him up to the seat. There, now do calm down. He'll wake in a moment. Sorry, you there, your name?"

"Ron...uh, Weasley."

"Right. Mr. Weasley. In my coat pocket, just there, you'll find a rather large bar of chocolate. When he wakes up, try to get your friend to eat it. All of it. Have you any idea why he might have been so affected, Mr..."

"Malfoy."

"Ah. That explains the recognition. Well?"

"Not...not really, S-Sir. Well, except...He's Harry Potter? I don't know if that matters. But things are sometimes...weirder, around him."

"Yes. Well. It's good to have a friend like that. I had one, once. At school," the rumpled man's pale eyes got a very distant look and he seemed to have to physically drag himself back. "I'm Professor Lupin. New Defence teacher. I am just going to go and see if I can't find out what's going on. The chocolate, Malfoy."

"Yes, I...yes," Draco said.

When he woke up, Harry was embarrassed, but mostly, they made him eat the chocolate, and got into his robes, and tried to pretend that things were still normal. They did it pretty well. They'd sort of all been play acting at normalcy since forever. What was a Dementor attack on the train to the four of them?

Still, Draco didn't like it. There was a niggling feeling in the back of his neck as they climbed into the carriages and ate the start of term feast, and went to their houses for the first time that year.

He thought it felt distinctly like foreboding.

* * *

Hermione was already stressed. She stood outside McGonagall's door waiting patiently for the teacher to appear. She had an appointment with the head of house, but she had been waiting for fifteen minutes, nervousness making her early. They'd been back at school for 48 hours, and she was already worried. It was a new record. But she felt like she'd earned these nerves; what she wanted to do was ridiculous. When she'd first brought it up with McGonagall last year, she'd been shocked to find the strict, serious teacher receptive to her idea.

"Granger, do come in," came the prim voice. Hermione jumped. She'd been so in her head she hadn't heard the door open. She followed McGonagall in.

"Tea?"

Hermione nodded.

"There's no need to look so concerned. Everything is sorted. We just have to go over the details. I've run it by the Headmaster, and he feels you are responsible enough to handle it. The Ministry has granted permission. Now, you have to understand Ms. Granger. You are being handed a wonderful opportunity, but it comes with great personal risk and responsibility. We do not make this decision lightly. There have only been a handful of others in the _history of the school_ who have been given the chance. However, we feel that you deserve the opportunity to gain as much knowledge as you can. You are headed to great prospects."

Hermione could only nod as she took her cup of tea. She took a small sip, and swallowed consciously. "I know, Professor. I understand. I thought about it all summer. I've decided…I'd like to try."

"Well, alright then."

McGonagall stood up and went to the cabinet behind her and pulled out a small box.

"Here is your timetable."

Hermione took the paper and felt her eyes go wide. There certainly was _a lot_ on this piece of parchment.

"And here it is. There are very important, non-negotiable rules for using a time-turner. You will listen, and follow every one of them. If at any point during the year, I decide you are not handling it well, I will take it back. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes."

"Very good. I assume you know the basics of time manipulation."

Hermione cleared her throat, "Yes. No crossing your own timeline- you can't let your past-self see your current self. No returning for more than five hours or the timeline may become unstable. No affecting change that results in loss of life. No using the time-turner for personal monetary gain unless given express permission."

"Indeed. In addition, Ms. Granger, you will be sworn to complete secrecy this year. No other student may know that you possess and are using this object. It would cause dangers untold if every student knew."

"Understood."

"Ms. Granger. _No one._ Not even your closest friends."

"I understand, Professor. No one."

As she left the office that day, she felt herself grin. Despite the weight of what was going to be the biggest secret she'd ever kept, she felt like things were going to be wonderfully exciting this year.

-XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX-

"Blimey, Hermione!" Ron exclaimed. "How many classes are you taking? They've messed up your schedule!"

"Ron, honestly. I've sorted it all with Professor McGonagall."

"But look! Nine o'clock, Divination. And underneath, nine o'clock, Muggle Studies. And, underneath that, Arithmancy, _nine o'clock._ Hermione!"

"Ron," Draco said. "If she says she's sorted it, do you think perhaps _she has sorted it._ Honestly. It is too early for this."

"Ah," Hermione said, slinging her arm around Draco's shoulders. "Oh how I've missed morning Draco. Good to have you back. At least, it is when you are defending me. Shouldn't you be sitting with your own house, though? Dumbledore doesn't like mixing this early in term."

"No one is going to care at early breakfast. It's too early. Ron, pass the marmalade."

Ron looked grumpy, but passed the pot to Hermione who looked triumphant, stealing it before passing it on.

Course, a week later, as she drowned in the chaos of this many classes, exhausted from essentially completing all days three times, she felt slightly less grateful for Draco, who was not being at all supportive.

"Just drop some classes, Hermione. Honestly, what's the point. You look like crap."

"Yes, Draco, because I have always been so concerned with how I _look_. Just leave me alone. I'm fine."

"We're only in third year. You have years to kill yourself over school work! Come on, just come for a walk with me. Harry's meeting me and we are going to visit Hagrid. He's all worried about this Buckbeak thing. I don't know what he's worried about. We were all there, it was Crabbe's fault he got bitten. Though, I suppose he's a Slytherin, so…"

"Draco, _I can't._ I have class."

"It's five o'clock," Draco said, eyes narrowed. "You don't have class."

"Er, right…I meant…I have homework," Hermione said, staring Draco right in the eye.

"Well, fine, suit yourself. I just think you're going to regret this."

"Am not. Just leave it, Malfoy."

"Fine, _Granger,_ " Draco said, annoyed now, as he walked out.

What Hermione didn't realise, however, was that Draco knew something was up. He didn't go down to Hagrid's as he was supposed to. Instead, he waited in the dark corner by the old statue outside the library, and followed her when she started walking. He watched from afar as she went into the girl's bathroom. And waited for way too long. When she didn't come out, he grabbed a first year who was passing by, and asked her to check on Hermione Granger. The terrified first year came back stuttering that the bathroom was empty. Draco was deeply suspicious.

Hermione appeared again at dinner an hour later, looking even more exhausted. Draco was eating with the Slytherins, and was too far away to do anything about it. But he would. Later. First, they all had to figure out what was wrong with Harry. He'd been babbling all afternoon about Dementors and Grims, and even for Harry, he was starting to sound a little paranoid.

* * *

Course, school immediately got way too busy for Draco to be focused on whatever was up with Hermione. There was still a niggling feeling, and he was watching her more than normal, but Hermione was pretty sure he'd gotten too distracted by Lupin's lessons, and the fact that he was having a hard time with Arithmancy, to have remembered to check up on her. She didn't have time to worry about him finding out. She was drowning in homework, only getting a few hours of sleep each night. They were only a month into school, and she knew that it was already taking a toll; over the past few weeks, she'd gotten shorter and shorter with the boys. Although, she didn't know how much of that was because she was exhausted and how much of it was because all they ever talked about these days was Quidditch. She was going to be happy when the trials were over and the season started. It would mean that she would have the common room all to herself to study while the games went on. Unlike now.

"Aha!" Ron shouted again, making her jump for the fiftieth time. She couldn't actually see him over her books. "Knight to E6!"

Draco groaned, and Hermione sighed as there was, simultaneously, a crash and the portrait swung open. She could just see Harry's head over the top of the stack of books.

"Draco," Harry said in a tone of surprise. "Hey. Are you..uh, supposed to be here."

Hermione shifted her books to glare at all three of them.

"Discovered the common room doesn't care if I'm here, until 9:30."

"Cool! What happens at 9:30?"

Draco's face went bright red and he shifted in his seat.

"Uh," Ron said. "There are some…negative consequences. In a not-so-great place. But in the meantime, I get to play Wizard's chess against someone who can actually play chess!"

Draco smirked.

"Yes," Hermione said scathingly. "Oh joy of joys."

"Oh leave it Hermione," Ron said. "We put up with your crazy cat attacking everyone in the middle of the common room."

Hermione glared at him.

"Stop. Both of you. Bigger issues. It's official. I am out of options. Looks like no Hogsmeade for me this year."

"What?!" Draco and Ron said at the same time.

"McGonagall said no. I can't go without permission, and I can't get permission because I blew up Aunt Marg."

"Who deserved it," all three of his friends echoed. He nodded.

"So, we'll use the cloak."

"RON. No. There's a crazed serial killer out there trying to kill him."

"I'm sure it'll be fine," Draco said.

"Draco!"

"What? Who will know?" Harry was exasperated. He looked wildly around him, as though realising they were in the open common room for the first time. It was pretty empty, just some first years at a small table organising parchment, Fred and George whispering worryingly on the sofa, and Neville, staring at the fire in a squashy chair a few feet from Hermione's table.

"Neville, you're quiet. Help me out here."

Neville looked up from the fireplace.

"Don't do it, Harry. I'm with Hermione. Besides, the Dementors will see him. No tricks work on them, remember."

"Well...there must be a way, no? I'm gonna do it."

Neville sighed, standing up and heading toward the door, "Of course you are. I don't know why you even ask me things."

Hermione slammed her books shut.

"Library," was all she ground out before following Neville out.

"I, er, have to go," said Draco.

"What? But-"

"We'll finish the game tomorrow."

Draco ran to catch up with Hermione.

"I've worked it out, you know," he said lightly.

"What are you on about, Draco," Hermione sighed. "Look I really don't have time for-"

"Oh really, Hermione. You don't have _time_?"

Hermione's head snapped up, and she looked around her distractedly before grabbing Draco by the robes and dragging him bodily into the nearest supply closet.

"What the-Hermione, what are you doing!?"

"Draco Malfoy, what is it you think you know," Hermione whispered, her wand suddenly pointed at him threateningly.

"Wha-I. Nothing. It's just…"

"Draco, you wouldn't have brought it up if it were nothing. Or if you didn't know what you wanted from me for the information. Now spill."

Draco stared at her for a moment. Finally, he sighed.

"I know what you're doing. To take all those classes. You're using a-"

"Draco, don't. Don't say it. Okay…so, here's the deal. I may be getting help from…Dumbledore. And others. To take a few more classes than most. And it may have required…extra _help_. But I can't tell anyone or they'll take it, and then I'll have to drop some of my classes, and then I'll fall behind, and I'll never be able to apply for the Ministry and-"

"Hermione. HERMIONE. Stop. Merlin, you're going to pass out," Draco said, putting his hand on her shoulder. "Relax. I'm not going to tell anyone."

"You aren't? But…why?"

Draco looked at her askance, "Hermione, you're my friend. Why would I tell someone?"

"I just...Slytherin?"

"I say that a lot more than I mean to, I think. But, um, you are going to have to be more careful, you know. Ron and Harry noticed you catch up to them too quickly yesterday."

"They'll never notice."

Draco laughed, "Well, of course not, it's _them_ , but I noticed something small, and someone else is going to figure it out."

Draco quirked an eyebrow.

"Okay…note taken."

"Okay. So, hey, can you help me with Arithmancy, by any chance?"

"I don't know why you're so lost. It's right up your alley. I don't know, D….I don't really have time, which trust me, is ironic. But I can help with your homework, maybe? While I do mine?"

"Deal," Draco said.

"Okay."

"Sorry I chased you."

"Meh, I'm used to it."

"You should take a break, though. Now, I mean."

"I can't. But we're going to Hogsmeade tomorrow, right? You coming with us or going with the Slytherins?"

"You guys. Definitely. Pansy hates fun, remember? She'll just be a buzzkill."

"Shame Harry can't come."

"We'll bring him back Honeydukes. Right, well, guess I'll go to my own dorm then. Night, Mione."

"Night, D."

* * *

He did go to bed, and they _did_ go to Hogsmeade, and even though it was fun, there was a weird undercurrent between the three of them that Draco couldn't put his finger on. It might have just been that they all knew Harry was stuck at the castle, but if felt like more. Finally, he made an excuse about not feeling well, and left Hermione and Ron to it, wandering back to the castle the long way round. He thought, out of the corner of his eye, that he had seen something large and shaggy, but when he turned, the dark shape was gone. He shook his head.

"You're getting paranoid, Malfoy," he mumbled to himself. "Too much time spent with Harry,"

He approached the gates, and decided to wander around the Quidditch pitch, daydreaming. By the time he got cold enough to go inside, he realised that he was going to be late for the feast. He'd always been pretty good at killing time, but with things on his mind, he literally had not realised how much time had passed. He ate distractedly, heading back to the common room before anyone else and lying in his bed, staring up at the curtains, restless. Which meant, he wasn't really asleep when Snape's magically amplified voice came over the dorm, demanding that they quickly and quietly follow him to the Great Hall. He explained about the Gryffindor common room on the way, and they walked into an already darkened hall with Dumbeldore looking grim.

As soon as Dumbledore's back was turned before he grabbed his sleeping bag and shuffled closer to the Gryffindor pile.

"Harry," he hissed.

"Here!" came the whispered reply. He adjusted course, shoved his sleeping bag between Harry and Neville, and joined in their whispered explanation of what had happened. Percy Weasley tried to shush them, and they stopped talking for a moment.

"I'm glad you weren't in _Hogsmeade_ ," Draco said scathingly, causing Harry to snort holding back his laughter. "You're all okay, though?"

"Well, except the Fat Lady."

They started giggling again, until Percy came over.

"Sorry, I'm trying really hard to take this _Sirius-ly_."

"Draco," Hermione groaned, trying not to laugh again.

"At least we get to have our delayed summer sleepover."

"Oh, hey!" Neville whispered. "Pact?"

"Why don't we all just try not to get killed by any murderers this year," Draco said.

Neville laughed, and gave a thumbs up in the darkness.

Miraculously, they all did sleep. When Draco woke up, it was to Percy nudging his foot and warning him that he should get back to the Slytherin side of the room before Snape came back. He grinned gratefully, and moved. Typical Hogwarts. Serial killers loose on school grounds, but god forbid _protocol_ be broken.

* * *

For the rest of the month, Hermione helped Draco with homework, as they hid from the others. It was weird, having a secret from Harry, but frankly, he had a feeling that Harry was keeping something from him, too. Something that had something to do with getting to Hogsmeade. He had seen Fred and George handing something to him in the common room the other day, and he was pretty sure it hadn't been essay help. Still, there was a certain point at which Draco stopped caring. He knew Harry. He knew that he would find out when it was time.

As the second Hogsmeade weekend drew closer and closer, Draco couldn't help but feel excited. He was starting to feel very cooped up in the castle, with the weather turning colder and his mother owling less and less. Having long, drawn, and overly serious conversations with Hermione had it's charms, but he sort of missed the stupidity of Quidditch conversations. Plus, she was getting very annoyed with him for some reason. Every single tutoring session seemed to be ending in fights or snippy book slamming.

He hid for the rest of the day on the last Thursday of the month, when the trial results were posted, and his name was conspicuously absent. When he finally emerged, it was only for sustenance. He slunk straight to his table, and stared at his bowl of soup for ten minutes before he heard a small collective gasp from the table around him. He looked up to find Harry standing in front of him. This was a hilarious role reversal, and it made Draco smirk to realise that, in a year and a half, Harry had never had to venture over to this side of the Great Hall.

"D...erm, Draco. I just wanted to say, sorry about the team. It's not a big deal. It'll happen next year."

"Thanks, mate. I'm not that upset. You'll have to get used to one more year of _actually_ being able to win again."

Harry relaxed a little bit at the familiar taunt.

"The others and I are…Going to the grounds after supper, if you want to join."

Code for 'down to Hagrid's to listen to him sob'. The journey didn't sound amazing, but he felt like maybe he could use the distraction.

"I'll meet you in the entrance-way?" he told Harry, who was clearly desperate to escape the situation. Harry nodded and walked quickly back to his own table. Draco smirked at Pansy, who was looking a bit shell shocked.

"You know, Malfoy. I think I may draw the line at the _Gryffindors_ appearing at our table,"

"Tough break, Pans. I invited them all to sit with us at inter-table this month!"

"But-"

"Only kidding. Though it would be funny to put you and Granger in a cage together. She'd eat you alive."

"Oh, shut it," Pansy grinned, hitting Draco across the back of the head. She seemed over the Potter appearance, and Draco exhaled gently.

As he, Harry, and Hermione (Ron was conspicuously missing, though neither of the other two would explain why) walked down the pitch, his foul mood sort of caught up with him.

"Can you believe," he started, sneering at the empty air in front of them. "That they chose _Nott_ as Seeker over me? He has no coordination! I just hope they're ready to throw the cup away. It'll be the disgusting Hufflepuff victory we all dread, mark my words."

" _Draco,_ " Hermione hissed. "No House bashing."

"Oh, come off it, Hermione. I'm only kidding."

She was classically annoyed at him, however, and she shrilly responded, "It hardly matters if you were 'just kidding', Draco Malfoy, and you know that. I thought we'd talked about that."

"No, you told me I wasn't allowed to call anyone mud-"

_"Draco,_ " both of them hissed at him, and he put his hands up in surrender.

"Fine, fine. I'm just saying. I would have been amazing."

"Well," said Hermione carefully, an evil-sort of glint in her eye. "You're the one who didn't want to involve your father."

Draco stopped dead in his tracks and glared at the back of Hermione's head.

"What's up _your_ bonnet, Granger? Got a bit of a short temper, eh? Anyone would think you were taking temper lessons from Ron. But then, I don't know how you'd fit anymore lessons into that schedule of yours. Tell me, how _are_ those _three_ nine a.m. classes going."

Hermione turned to face him, face bright red, looking murderous.

"Draco, don't," she ground out through clenched teeth.

"Oh Merlin, would you two stop fighting please? We're near the forest now, and I can feel those _things_ feeding off your anger. Look, just…put it away, whatever the hell you two are fighting about. We have to deal with Hagrid. What on earth is wrong with you two anyway? You've been bickering all week."

"Nothing," Draco and Hermione said at once. Harry just shook his head.0

Nothing except that Draco now held Hermione's greatest secret, and was accidentally blackmailing her without even noticing it. Because for all his big talk, Draco was still a Slytherin, and his first instinct had been to secure her help for his own gain. Help she'd likely have given freely, but was now feeling coerced into providing. Hermione sighed. Harry was right. She was picking fights that didn't need to be had right this moment. She turned as Harry knocked at Hagrid's door and took a deep breath.

Inside Hagrid's hut, they found chaos. Draco immediately wandered the perimeter, picking up empty cups and saucers, stacking bowls into a pile under his arm, turning chairs upright. Hermione went to put the kettle on, and Hagrid and Harry sat down at the massive table, where Hagrid handed him a large scroll of parchment. The news was grim, and for almost an hour, they tried to console Hagrid. When they finally stood to leave, they all looked a bit drawn. Draco felt worn down.

He paused about halfway back up to the castle, trying to enjoy the slightly crisp air.

"I really just don't get it. I mean…I know Hagrid likes animals, and all, but really. He's being a bit of a blubbering idiot, isn't he? There are plenty of better things to get upset about this year. There's a maniac on the loose, for Merlin's sake. And this is what throws him? It's just a mangy Hippogriff-"

He didn't finish his thought. Largely because, as he had been sneering and rambling, and sounding far more Malfoy than he had in a good long time, Hermione had stopped and was staring agape at him. As he kept going on, his tone soured by the Quidditch cut and having spent the last half hour cleaning Hagrid's hut. And finally, Hermione couldn't listen anymore. She stopped moving, squared her shoulders, and slapped Draco as hard as she could across his face. He froze, outright, the only movement he made being the fish-like opening and closing of her mouth. Hermione nodded once.

"I don't know what's wrong with you, Draco Malfoy, but get over it. And soon. Because, we did _not_ become friends with _your father._ "

She strode away from Harry and Draco, not bothering to look back or wait for a response. Frankly, that slap had been the most satisfying thing she had done in a long, long time. She was stressed, that wasn't untrue, and her workload had her losing sleep and worrying over every detail. But Draco being snarky and rude wasn't going to fly much longer, especially as she was trying to help him with homework. Plus, she was supposed to be done listening to Quidditch talk now. If he went on and on about the team for three more weeks, she'd probably have snapped anyway. Anyway, that was hardly going to happen now. She knew she was supposed to feel remorse or guilt. You weren't supposed to slap your friends. She didn't feel bad though. In fact, a tiny grin had planted itself on her face, and she was skipping a little bit as she settled back down to her library table with a stack of homework.

Draco, for his part, didn't move for almost a full minute, despite Harry hopping up and down on one foot, going on and on about the cold. Finally, he turned to look at Harry.

"She...she slapped me."

"Well, I mean, you've sort of had it coming for weeks. I know _you_ didn't notice, but she's sort of on edge lately. The whole Crookshanks and Ron thing. The classes. And for some reason, you've been pissing her off more than normal."

"I can't tell you why," Draco said quickly.

Harry looked at him strangely, and shook his head, "I don't think I asked you why, D. Besides, it's convenient that you are now here alone. I'm not ready to deal with telling Hermione yet, but wanna know how I'm going to get into Hogsmeade?"

Draco was still holding his cheek, but he laughed, "Go on, then. But let's walk too. It's frigging cold."

The map. The map was extraordinary. It was a godsend. It was going to solve so many problems. Draco was only slightly annoyed that it was technically Harry's now. The weekend in Hogsmeade made it worth it. The sneaking around safely at night made it worth it. But still, Draco couldn't help the tiny bit of jealousy growing inside his stomach. A seed that had planted itself long ago, and had been nurtured by extra points, special treatment, even Quidditch. Draco ignored it as best he could, but he made a note to deal with that soon. Jealousy, left unchecked, was a dangerous thing.

* * *

"You know, at some point, you're going to have to stop wearing that ridiculous badge," Draco said, feeling a little annoyed and a little silly for being annoyed. _Of course_ Harry deserved to win. _He'd played well._ He'd also had a weird year, where the person who had all but killed his parents had stalked him and the rest of the school. And Dementors. And the Grim. Still. It was a little annoying, the gloating. Draco couldn't decide if he was annoyed because it was Gryffindor, or if he was annoyed because he hadn't made the team.

"Says who?" Harry answered, flashing the ' _Quidditch Champ'_ badge back and forth.

"Well, Hermione will put a stop to it soon."

"Very likely. I'm scared she's going to kill us all in our sleep."

"She'd never get into my dorm. I'll make sure I avenge your untimely deaths."

"You can't take her."

"Well, no."

Harry laughed, and sprawled with his books back across his lap in the warmish air. They were studying by the lake. Draco settled back down again, pulling his Arithmancy book back into his lap and trying to focus. Which lasted all of three seconds before they both looked up at the shouting across the lawns. Ron and Hermione were approaching quickly, with Ron's telltale bright red face proving it was another fight. Draco sighed. If only it had nothing to do with the cat.

"Tell them, Hermione!"

"Tell us what," Harry said wearily.

"Hermione has had a secret all year! I can't believe you didn't tell us. I can't believe _you_ didn't tell us, since we all know you know!" Ron shouted, pointing at Draco. Draco shrugged, nodding.

"Ron, it's hardly been all year."

"Lupin. He's a _werewolf._ "

"Lupin's a what!?" Draco and Harry said at the same time.

"Wait, Draco didn't know..." Ron said, looking at Draco. "So wait, what did you know?"

But they didn't have time to keep digging this rabbit hole, because across the lawn strolled an executioner, axe slung jauntily on his shoulder.

"Buckbeak," the four of them breathed at once.

* * *

What followed was the longest, most confusing night of his life. Draco had never really considered the terror and the exhaustion of the whole thing when he missed the adventures of the Golden Trio. Being involved was almost worse than being the waiting party; only, not really. Because now, when they all sat silently in the Hospital wing, around Ron's bed, he was in on the half questions. In on the mis-remembered truths. And as battered and scared as he was, he felt much better. And a little guilty that he felt better.

"So Lupin," Hermione began.

"Yup," Draco said.

"Lupin and Sirius Black?"

"Yup," Harry muffled, head on arms and arms on bed.

"And..." Draco paused.

"And my parents."

"Harry..."

"It's fine, Mione. I'm just...tired. And confused."

"Harry," Draco started.

Harry looked up.

"Harry, you have a _godfather_."

Harry grinned, "I do. And Ron does not have a rat."

"Frigging Scabbers," Ron mumbled behind the pain meds.

Draco got home late in the afternoon. He knew that things were different, for some reason. No one had been at the station to pick him up, just a note from the conductor asking him to floo from Diagon. He looked around the house, but things were silent. He dragged his trunk in through the front door, but left it there. The house seemed closed off, and empty. The feeling, for the first time since the week before, was back. The feeling that made him shiver. Made his hair stand on end. Made him question whether he should stay at the house, or turn and run while he still had the chance. The feeling that he had trained his brain to _always_ recognise.

Foreboding.


	4. Fourth Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some more subtle timeline shifting in this one...intentional, hopefully for a solid reason. You may not even notice, but if you do, I hope you agree ;)

 

**Fourth Year**

Draco was angry. He wasn't actually convinced he'd ever been this angry before, at anyone.

"You promised I could go with _my friends,"_ he whispered through his teeth. "You _promised._ What is the point in you using any words, at all, if everything you say is a lie."

"Draco," Narcissa said sadly. "Everything I say is not a lie. You really should try to get beyond this melodramatic phase. Fourteen seems a bit old for that. It was not my decision. Your father feels-"

"Oh sod it, my _father_ feels that he needs to be in control of absolutely everything."

" _Excuse me_ ," a cold voice said behind him. Before he could stop himself, Draco flinched. But he was angry. _Remember,_ he thought. _Anger._ He turned around.

"I- I said," Draco said, carefully avoiding his father's eye. "That you aren't letting me go because…you're… trying to control who I hang out with."

"Who you 'hang out' with? Do you hear that, Narcisssa? I'm glad we threw all that money after bad with the tutors. He speaks like a common muggle."

"I already had plans, Father. I am supposed to be meeting the Weasley's, and Neville, and Hermione, tomorrow. In Devon. They went to a lot of trouble to-"

"Yes, and I have told you that you will _not_ be going. You will be coming with me, to sit in the Minister's box, because you were invited. Personally. By the MINISTER. The Minister for Magic, and your _father_ take precedent over your little Mudblood friends."

"Father, I-"

" _Unless,_ " Lucius continued, an evil sneer appearing on his face and turning his features sinister. "You would like to suddenly find yourself _poorly_ and unable to attend the finals of the Quidditch World Cup this year."

Draco shut his mouth and shook his head.

"You know, I somehow think perhaps that _is_ what is happening. Indeed, you look paler than usual, darling _child._ "

"Dad!" Draco shouted before he could stop himself. He felt his eyes go wide in horror at the sound of his own voice, and crouched back slightly when Lucius' hand went straight to his wand, his eyes murderous.

"I meant, yes, Father. You-It's your decision. Of course I…have an obligation…to go with the Minister, when he so graciously invited you," Draco whispered, dropping his gaze and holding his breath as he finished speaking.

Fortunately, Lucius dropped his wand and nodded, muttering 'indeed' and leaving the room. Draco looked at his mother.

"I really don't know why you provoke him."

"I'm sorry, Mother," Draco said. He knew that when Lucius got angry with Draco, most of the suffering was endured by her, and as angry as he still was at both of them, he felt genuinely guilty now.

"Oh, don't worry so much, Draco darling. He'll be fine now that he's gotten his way. He's…genuinely a bit excited you know? Just try to…make the best of it. You may not get to go to another World Cup."

Draco nodded, excused himself, and dashed off a note to Ron in his room. He knew that his friends would understand. That they wouldn't hold it against him. That wasn't really the issue. The problem was that he was beginning to think he would feel this way forever. He was going to feel like he was trapped and manipulated, held by his family name and his commitments, for the rest of his life.

All summer, he'd been feeling his life spiral out of his control. Despite the vastness of the house, he had been unable to escape his father's wrath. He kept running into the bizarre people that had been appearing in his house for two months, sometimes for days at a time, whispering in corridors and falling silent when he appeared from around the corner. More importantly, his father kept disappearing.

There was definitely a plot afoot. A plot that involves…something. And the something is being infuriatingly impossible to suss out. He is worried, however, because for some reason, the worry feels appropriate. Still, he was grateful that in one week's time, he'd be back at school. Nothing dramatic could possibly happen this year, not after first year, and second year, and third year.

Surely, this would be the first quiet year. He was taking classes he liked, he knew where he stood with all his friends

And first, he was going to go and have a completely boring time at the Quidditch World Cup finals, trying desperately to ignore the fact that he was with the boring, stuffy ministry types, and trying to impress his father. Not with his almost-Muggle friends, laughing at the newness of it all and revelling in their joy. It would still be world class Quidditch, and he couldn't deny that the seats were good. It might be fun, but it would definitely also be uneventful.

In retrospect, Draco suspected that he needed to stop preparing for his life to be boring and uneventful. The planning may very well be the problem.

* * *

The crisp fall air hit Scotland early that year, and Draco found it very annoying. The weather would be perfect for Quidditch, and he felt like there was no need for this silly competition that had taken the Quidditch away. So far, it had only led to a headache, and he wasn't sure that 'eternal glory' was all it was cracked up to be. He sighed in a world weary way as he tried once again to dissuade Ron from causing bodily harm to himself and others. They were sitting on a stone bench, and he was chipping away at a stone gargoyle, who kept turning away in annoyance, but seemed to be unable to do anything to stop Ron's defacing attempts.

"You're being an idiot, Ron," Draco said for what had to be the eighteenth time that afternoon.

He was unclear as to how he had ended up being the one trying to comfort Ron, since, of all people, he was the least qualified. Especially because he was a bit annoyed with Harry as well. It was just as inexplicable as it was with Ron, but there you are. What they really needed was some Granger logic, but she had infuriatingly disappeared. Something about the reality of the Beaubaxtons people being everywhere, and the Elf thing, and possibly the attentions of one Viktor Krum meant that Draco hadn't seen her in at least two days. Which was frustrating, because right now, she'd know exactly what to say to drag Ron out of this funk enough to get him to help Draco figure out the Defence homework that Moody had set them. So far, fourth year was not shaping up to be all that stellar. And it didn't help that no one would hear his complaints. He knew how all the Gryffindors felt about the terrifying new professor, but Draco wasn't convinced.

There was something not right about that man.

He turned his attention back to Ron, who was now attempting to chip the little wings of the Gargoyle off completely.

"I am NOT being an idiot. Fine, so he wanted to participate in the cup. But he could have at least _told_ me he'd figured a way to enter. Then I'd have helped him. What? Does he think he can't trust me?"

"There is a possibility that this is _Harry_ we are talking about, Harry Potter? You've heard of him? Weird shit happens to him, without his knowledge? Plus, he can't lie to save his life. Any chance these are good enough reasons to believe him when he says he has no idea how his name ended up in the cup?"

"Whatever."

Draco sighed in frustration, and was going to continue, but there was a sudden cacophony of noise across the corridor of the entryway, and when he looked up, he immediately picked out Neville, who was quick stepping away from a clearly irate Gregory Goyle.

"Say it again, Large Bottom," he said with a twisted smile that Draco did not like.

"Greg!" Draco called cautiously. "What's up, mate?"

"Can it, Malfoy. We aren't mates. In fact, this sodding git _here_ is your mate, if I recall," Greg, the idiot, sounded vaguely like he was challenging Draco do deny it. He just shook his head.

"Yeah, he is in fact. So I ask again, what seems to be the trouble, _mate,_ " Draco said, making sure the challenge in his own voice was clear and unmistakable.

"Draco, don't bother," Neville said softly, now standing right beside he and Ron, who had leapt up and was red-faced, wand drawn. He was already pissed off, and it never did take much to push Weasley into a fight. Draco looked at him, then back at Goyle, who looked steadily between the three of them.

"Yeah, you go hide beside your protectors. I'll be waiting. You're alone a lot, Large Bottom, we all know that. This can wait," Goyle said. He may be stupid enough that he rattled when he walked for all the rocks in his head, but even he was smart enough to know that 3:1 were bad odds in a crowded corridor.

Draco should have left well enough alone. Should have realized that Goyle walking away was a good thing. He was the mature one, the consider-before-you-act one. The reconsiderer. And so he should have reconsidered his decision before he'd made it.

But, perhaps out of too much time spent with Weasley, or perhaps because he was already annoyed, and his wand was in his hand, he didn't leave it. Instead, something inside Draco snapped. Even as he was doing it, he knew that it was a bad idea to hex Goyle's retreating form, but the urge to send a small wet willy jinx after him was too strong. He had barely let the spell leave his mouth when suddenly everything faded around him.

He felt everything grow and expand. All around him, there was noise. And danger. And smells. He looked up and down the corridor, trying to find somewhere to hide. There were loud snapping sounds all around him, and there was scritching in the walls. He was scurrying, scurrying to hide, needed to get away. Then the ground beneath him disappeared, and he was up, and down, and up, and down. The ground whizzed by all in a hurry.

And just as quickly, he was back, crumpled in a mass of twitching on the corridor floor. Noises still seemed too sharp, and he flinched at the sound of McGonagall's voice behind him.

"Are you alright, Malfoy? Weasley, take him to the Hospital Wing, please."

"He'll be fine, Professor."

"Yes, well...Professor Moody, I'm afraid I will have to leave that to the discretion of Professor Dumbledore."

She seemed both alarmed and annoyed, and both those emotions confused Draco, who was still whirling around wildly, trying to see everything at once, trying to remember if sounds had always been this loud. Ron was holding his bag, and dragging him along beside him, clearly trying to hold back laughter. Neville was shaking his head and following them.

"HE DID WHAT?" Hermione shrilled as they sat around the Gryffindor fire an hour later.

Draco had 25 minutes until he needed to get back to his own common room, but something about going back there before he was able to just hide in his bed made him distinctly afraid.

"Turned him into a white ferret. Because he jinxed Goyle," Ron said, collapsing into laughter again.

"Ronald, that is NOT funny," Hermione said, slapping him across the head.

"Actually, Hermione, I have a feeling it was immensely funny, for those not in the state of 'ferret'...for me, not so much," Draco said, holding back his own snicker.

For the life of him, he couldn't work out how to be annoyed. He stood by his decision to jinx the giant git, and he didn't remember anything from Moody's little escapade. Sure, he'd take some ridiculous teasing for the next couple of days, and maybe be a bit hyper for a while, but that was worth it to know that currently, Goyle was in detention. And Neville kept grinning and muttering how hilarious Goyle's face had been when he'd been jinxed.

"I told you that man was off his nut," Draco added mildly.

"Well, there is a reason they call him 'Mad Eye'," Harry said, bursting into his own laughter.

"I seriously wish you'd all been there," Ron said, looking directly at Harry, almost apologising.

"Well, honestly," Hermione said, looking between the four of them in immense irritation.  
"Boys. Is it going to take someone getting illegally transfigured every time you two have a fight?"

The four of them burst into laughter again, and she stormed out of the common room in a huff.

"Is it just me, or does she seem easier to piss off this year?" Draco said carefully.

"Who can say?" Ron said, shaking his head sadly, but still laughing. "Oh, shit...Draco, 9:23!"

"Shit! Night!" Draco said, running out the portrait hole and into the silence of the corridors, still turning in every direction at once in what was an unmistakably weasel-like fashion.

* * *

"Granger's mad at me," Draco sighed, collapsing beside Harry at the table in Potions with an armful of ingredients from the closet.

Ron sniggered from behind them, and Draco whipped around.

"What?"

"Well, _of course she is_ , mate. You insulted SPEW to her face."

"You all feel the same way!"

"Well, yeah," said Ron. "But we all had the sense to shut up."

"Yeah, well, point is, she's mad at me. I tried to apologise, but she just ran away."

"Just leave it. It's Hermione," Harry finally said distractedly. "She'll get over it. Instead, why don't you help me with this frigging potion before I blow something up."

"You can start by _not_ trying to crush the holly leaves. It won't blow up, but it will make everything blue. The thing is, though, I don't have time to just wait out the Granger-anger this time. I'll miss my chance to ask her to the ball."

Harry dropped his knife, and Ron literally sputtered, almost knocking over Neville's cauldron.

"What?"

"You. Are going to ask _Hermione._ To the _ball_?"

Draco looked at them as though they were crazy for a moment, before throwing his hands up in the air.

"Well, obviously _._ Have any of you even realised she is a _girl_? Didn't think so! And as such, I feel it is my duty to ask her before that idiot Krum asks her and ruins our entire night!"

"But...but…it's _Hermione!_ " sputtered Ron again, his face bright red, as he sputtered, unable to get more words out.

"Yes, and she is our friend. So I was going to ask her to go with me. But now I have to wait until she isn't mad at me."

"I.…" Ron started, gulping comically and taking a deep breath. He looked right at Draco."Don't. I'll ask her…I'm. I'm going to ask her."

"What?" Draco said, risking turning around fully while Snape tried to help Pansy and Blaise. "When?"

"Today, at dinner. Kor, I can't believe I'm saying that. But. Well, it's like you said, isn't it? She's a girl. We have to ask girls. I'll ask her. As a…friend."

That night, Draco wisely chose to sit at his own house table. He wasn't stupid. Hermione was terrifying when mad (his cheek almost stung in phantom pain when he thought about the last time he'd pissed her off). It did mean that he was across the room, however, when he saw Ron stride with purpose toward the Gryffindor table, obviously having just come in from outside. He'd likely been wandering the grounds trying to prepare himself.

He watched Ron stop in front of Hermione, saw her smile, nod her head, and grinned to himself as Ron sat down. He was glad that Krum would not be part of their evening, now. He really didn't like the git, with his three words and his weird propensity to just sort of _watch_ them all. Besides, he was way too old for Hermione. Draco's smile faded slowly as he realised that now, he was going to have to ask someone _else_. Someone _not_ his best friend, and therefore, far more likely to say no. He gulped and looked around him frantically. How was he supposed to deal with this?

"Hey, Pans," he shouted down the table.

"I'll go with you, you git, but I'd better not have to wear purple."

He grinned at her. Pansy was abrasive, and sometimes mean. She had Pure Blood ideals that had been hard to shake, and sometimes, he had to hit her with a stinging hex or two to get her to shut up about whatever summer sojourn her family had taken that year. But, on the whole, she was good people.

"No purple," he promised, and she smiled at him lightly. He didn't dwell on having lucked out with the only other friend he'd have even considered asking.

Not that the ball turned into a huge success for them anyway.

Draco hated dress robes, that fit weirdly and were always itchy. He and Pansy had danced a bit before she'd gotten bored and wandered off to find the illicit card games she knew were happening. Harry had spent all night trying not to dance with Pavarti, running off to the punch table whenever she came back. Which, eventually she didn't.

Ron was fighting with Hermione almost the entire night, since Krum kept asking her to dance, and she kept saying yes- in an odd, sort of dreamy tone that Draco personally found disturbing. The only ones that seemed to have fun, actually, were Neville and Ginny. Which annoyed him because it was Neville, and annoyed him because it was annoying to watch someone else have fun. Especially when that someone else was your friend, and someone you'd slowly been feeling confusingly guilty about.

Still, when the weird sisters played 'Like a Hippogriff', Draco dragged all of them onto the floor with him, dancing them in a tight circle, making up the lyrics and making them all laugh. Neville was barely breathing by the end, and Harry and Draco kept poking him and making him roll away in laughter again. It was wonderful. They'd all been sort of distant this year, what with the tournament, the bad blood between Harry and Draco, and Harry and Ron, and Hermione and Draco. Really, it felt like he was desperately clinging to a circle of friends that may no longer exist. For the first time in ages, Draco felt them feel like _them_.

Later, he would decide that the night had been fun, in that way that you do when you've had sort of a crappy time, but the night seems too important to remember badly. If nothing else, it had been a nice calm in the midst of a crazy storm. Draco was glad of many things; first, that Harry and Ron were speaking again. Second, that he seemed to be off of Moody's 'curse on sight' list, at least for now. And third, that they were almost halfway through this dreadful year of weirdness. Plus, the Yule celebrations meant he could avoid the Manor this year, which, based on the bald faced awfulness of his summer, felt like a good thing.

Christmas at Hogwarts meant snow, and cake, and extra presents from mysterious sources. When he woke up on Christmas morning, in a warmer than normal dormitory, he couldn't help but feel calmer than normal.

"Merry Christmas, castle," he whispered to the pile of sweets at the foot of his bed, grinning.

* * *

Draco sighed and started pacing again. It was getting very annoying considering there was very little space in the crowded stands. Neville grabbed the hood of his robes as he swung back toward him, and tried to halt his progress

"Okay, crazy person," he muttered. "Let's go."

"What! Neville, we are not _leaving_. Those are our _friends_ down there. Like, all of our friends!"

Neville shrugged, "I have other friends."

Draco looked aghast.

"Oh relax, I'm kidding. I am just also aware that we are staring at a lake and standing in the cold. Let's. Go. We'll come back down when everything is over."

"How the hell are you so calm?"

"It's Harry. Harry will save them. Why _aren't_ you calm? Let's go. I'll show you something."

He let go of Draco and walked down the stairs. Draco paused for a second, torn, before following him down the stairs and across the grounds toward the Quidditch pitch, which was still only partially rebuilt after the whole Dragon incident. The sight of the damage made him panic all over again and he ran to catch up with Neville.

"Nev, I really don't think you're taking this seriously. This tournament is dangerous!"

"Yes. But Draco. Tell me, what exactly are you going to _do_ about it? Hmm? Pace and freak out while watching an empty lake? He's using gillyweed. He's got this. We can't do anything to help him, just like we couldn't when you were screaming beside me while the dragon chased him. I'm starting to think you aren't really cut out for heroics. So, instead, _we_ are going to go and _do_ something while we wait."

Draco grumbled, telling Neville exactly what he thought of him and his stupid _Gryffindor heroics,_ but he stopped protesting. They had reached the North stairs of the Quidditch pitch, and Draco was confused. But Neville just calmly lifted the edge of the canvas wind barrier, the ones adorned with Hogwarts flags and ridiculous stripes and had probably been there since the days of jousting Muggles. He walked in with confidence and sat down around a corner, apparently beneath the staircase. Draco was still confused, but followed anyway, and was pleased to discover that it was much warmer inside. He went to sit down beside Neville and gasped as a disillusionment charm fell away.

"Neville, what the- Are you going to explain to me why the stairwell of the Quidditch stands looks like a living room?" Draco deadpanned.

"Well," Neville began, throwing Draco a large floor cushion from the stack beside him. "Do you know Luna? Lovegood?"

"Looney-"

"Don't," Neville said, voice full of warning. Draco shut his mouth and nodded.

"Well, she and I have a special Herbology project this year. And the plants need to be outside for six hours a day. And when it got cold, we needed a place to observe them still. So, we built this. I hang out here sometimes. The common room gets…"

His voice fell away, and Neville's face went a slight pink that Draco hadn't seen that often lately. It made him look like his first year self. But Draco understood exactly what Neville meant.

"Yeah. I know," Draco whispered. He was still looking around, noting the fairy lights, the blankets. A pang of weird jealousy seemed to hit him. He'd always been a bit possessive, and he felt weird about Neville hanging out with other people, especially since it seemed to be because he was feeling ignored by his other friends, including Draco.

"What?" Neville said, noticing Draco's expression change, because he always noticed expressions change. Neville and his wariness. It was occasionally very infuriating.

"Nothing, it's just…I did think we were seeing less of you this year."

"Yeah, well, you know. The three of them. It gets…crowded sometimes."

"Yeah. No kidding. It feels like everything has shifted. I blame the World Cup."

"You should have come with us."

"You know I couldn't, Nev. My dad-"

"I know, I know. Sorry. I was teasing, really. It's just…Do you feel like since they started hanging out at the burrow in the end of summer, instead of at yours like first and second year…"

"Yep. It's like we miss something. And now, I feel like we don't always have the whole story. I'm glad you feel that way. I thought it was because of the Slytherin thing."

"Don't think so. Think it's a trio thing," Neville said, smiling sadly. "Oh well, what can you do?"

"Hey, speaking of…Have you…noticed anything weird with Hermione right now? She's seemed off since the ball."

"It's Hermione. She's likely annoyed with Ron, and stressed, and she's taking too many classes as usual. And there's Krum. Don't read into it. Wanna play Snap?"

"What? Oh, yeah, I guess. But, you know, last time you said that about Hermione, she was using a time-turner."

"Yes, and she was fine. Saved everyone's asses, in fact. You worry too much, Malfoy," Neville said, reaching into a small box in the corner and pulling out cards. They played a few rounds of exploding snap in silence.

"Nev.…"

"What?"

"Remember that letter, where I told you that my father had started disappearing a lot? It kept happening all summer. And I'm sort of worried about that too."

"Did you ask him about it?"

"You've met my father. Would _you_ ask him anything you didn't have to?"

"No. Probably not," Neville laughed.

Draco put down his cards and laid on his back, looking up at the fairy lights. Neville laid down the other way. It was an old trick, one born of their time spent at Draco's. Neville knew that it was easier for Draco to not look at him as he tried to talk. Draco knew it was starting to get a bit childish, to be lying in circles while talking to each other, but he appreciated it nonetheless.

"I just don't know. Things seem really…off this year. Did you notice? I thought last year it was the Dementors and all the crap with Sirius Black. But something _is_ up with Hermione, and the teachers seem way more worried than they are letting on. Combined with Aunt Bellatrix appearing randomly and picking up things from my house, and my father's bizarre disappearances… _how_ are you not worried that something is going on?"

"Draco," Neville said gently. "I am worried about one thing or another _almost all the time_."

"But, no you aren't."

"Yes, I am. We just…show it differently. You worry out loud. I worry by…working on special projects with Luna and building clubhouses in the Quidditch pitch."

"Clubhouses?"

"Shut up, it's awesome and you know it."

Draco laughed, his whole body shaking with it. It felt real and wonderful. And also disturbingly foreign.

"Well, you seem fine. Clearly I need to hang out with _you_ more and _Harry_ less."

"Yeah, he does seem a bit more stressed this year. He's let Divination get to his head. You can help Luna and I, if you want. You need to be nice to her though."

"I'm always nice!"

Neville lifted his head to glare at Draco.

"Okay, fine, I'll be _nice._ "

"We'd better get back…time is almost up. You can though, if you meant it. Hang out with me more, I mean. I know what it's like to fight for Harry's attention."

"That's not- I don't need...I don't need Harry's attention."

"It doesn't matter if you do. What I mean is, there are moments when everyone needs to feel like they are the important one, and Harry...as much as he doesn't mean to, that doesn't happen that often around him."

Draco sat up and looked at Neville, "Yeah, okay. You are right."

* * *

To Harry, the shift was only just perceptible. He was very worried most of the time these days. Between the tournament, the nightmares and scar pain, and the whole thing with Padfoot, he felt he'd earned his inattentiveness. He noticed that Draco wasn't in the common room as often. He noticed that when they planned or tried to prepare for the next task, more often than not, Draco wasn't there. He vaguely realised that the blond head and snarky comments were missing, but he was so busy he didn't know what to think about it. Mostly, he figured it was a phase. Let him be distant and Slytherin-y for a while. Harry didn't have time to care, and it's not like Draco seemed mad when he _was_ there. And more importantly, he didn't notice that in addition to an absent Draco, he saw less and less of Neville. This was mostly because Harry didn't spend much time noticing Neville.

Neville, for his part, watched the transition closely. He felt like at some point, both Harry and Draco were going to have to get very angry. He thought that perhaps the unspoken emotion that had led to this distancing would be an issue one day soon. Largely because he realized what the other two hadn't'; that this thing with Draco wasn't the same as when Neville had gently separated himself from the natural force that was _HarryRonHermione._ Neville had always been on the edge, a peripheral friend who they'd adopted like a stray pet, and he didn't really mind. While he'd always been grateful, he also had other friends. He knew when they were all too distracted to notice that he wasn't around. But Draco, he wasn't like that. He was, first and foremost, Harry's friend. Draco separating himself from the three was bound to get noticed at some point, and cause a huge issue shortly thereafter.

Still, Neville _was_ worried, and about Draco. He'd come back to school after the summer, and after the death-eater attack at the cup, with a strange pallor and a look of flitting nervousness that had never appeared before on his pale features. Draco looked, rather unfortunately, like a ferret. Unfortunate, because Neville hadn't made the connection until the incident with Moody. Now, it was disturbingly accurate, and Neville felt like he owed it to Draco to calm him down.

And so, The Shadow Trio was born.

"Really? The 'Shadow Trio'? Neville, what is it exactly he thinks is going on here," Luna said lightly. They were sitting in the warmth of the clubhouse, eating stolen biscuits and trying to finish their Charms homework.

"He thinks this is a clubhouse, that you and I are a club, and that therefore, we need a name. In fact, I believe he thinks he's doing us a favour."

Draco shrugged, "All secret societies need a code name. Otherwise, how do they correspond _in secret_."

"Draco, we see each other literally every day," Neville said distractedly, flipping through his text book trying to reference some sentence he'd just written. "When are we going to need to correspond in secret?"

"Do you have a better name? Is that the problem?"

Luna laughed, and Neville just pursed his mouth in annoyance.

"Well, I think maybe I can get used to it," Luna said airily. Although, she said everything airily. So maybe she was just talking.

Draco smiled at her gratefully.

"I've always wanted a code name and a club, even if it does seem a bit dramatic for studying plants."

"Hey!" Neville said, snapping back to full attention.

"Neville, I hardly think she was saying that plants weren't important."

"I would never!" Luna said defensively.

Draco instantly liked her. She said what she meant, which had always been a quality that he appreciated. He wasn't that bothered by her strange mumbling, and he very quickly realised that if you took out the random, mythical creatures that she was talking about, her words always carried a sage and wonderful grain of truth. And she was kind beyond measure. It was all very reassuring, and Draco quickly understood why Neville had taken to hanging out with her.

The three of them spent an inordinate amount of time together over the next few months. They sat underneath the Quidditch stands, sometimes for hours, lost in study and contemplation, or else playing ridiculous games of gobstones or snap and having hilarious hypothetical conversations. Draco felt lighter at the constant laughter. It was returning him to the peace of first year, and even second year.

As Draco felt more at ease, Harry got more and more stressed. It was so bad that by the end of April, Draco had banned him from helping during Potions, after having replaced four scorched cauldrons and thrown away two sets of burned robes. Now, he just sat there waiting patiently, lost deep in thought. Draco would finish their potion, and Snape would mark Harry down for not helping. It was sad to watch, but safer for everyone in the long run.

For a time, everything was peaceful. There was tournament crap, and dealing with Veelas, and the reality that things had gotten a bit strange, but no one was fighting, and everyone had plans, and the whole SPEW thing was dying down in ridiculousness. Draco was cautiously optimistic, and almost happy. If he ignored the fact that it was almost the end of the year, that is.

* * *

"Doesn't this seem a bit anti-climactic for the final task?" Draco said, arms folded in annoyance. Although, it was hard to take him seriously with Luna's homemade Hogwarts hat- complete with turrets and a sleeping dragon- perched precariously on his head.

"I dunno," Neville said contemplating the hedgerows ahead of him. "Seems to me like it could be way more dangerous, doesn't it? More mental stuff."

"You're more mental stuff, mate," Ron said, laughing at his own joke, and receiving four groans that made him laugh harder.

"I'm so excited!" Luna said, jumping up and down in little circles.

"I just think maybe they could have found a better way for us to watch this one…" Hermione said. She was bitter still about her last disastrous conversation with Dumbledore about the house elves. She had been taking it out on them all week.

"Cheer up, G-Money," Draco said, slinging an arm over her shoulder in what would have been a friendly way, were she not annoyed, and were he not intentionally being an ass.

"I told you not to call me that. If you don't stop, it's going to stick."

"That's the goal of nicknames, G-Money."

"Ron! Help me!" she said, trying to spin away, but with a faint smile on her lips nonetheless. Draco just grinned innocently.

Ron briefly took his eyes off the hedgerows, which he had been staring at intently, to smirk at them.

"Draco, you did get punched, mate. Just reminding you. He's right, though, Hermione. At least we aren't in the lake!"

"Or freezing outside of it."

"Fine. I just hope this goes quickly."

They waited and waited. They listened to Lee Jordan's ridiculous commentary, and about fifty renditions of each of the three school songs. Darkness descended over the grounds. Slowly, red sparks flared once. Twice. There was still no sign of the bright blue light they had been told to expect. Hermione was less annoyed now, worry replacing her anger and appearing in the form of grabbing each of the boy's arms ridiculously hard until they moved away, taking turns being the target of her anxiety.

Finally, there was a boisterous bang, and a giant cheer. They watched as the teachers all rushed forward, as a collective gasp emerged, as the crowd of hundreds immediately fell to a deathly silence.

Someone yelled, "He's dead", and suddenly, Draco didn't have a grip on Hermione's arm anymore because she had bolted through the crowd. He grabbed Neville and followed, forming a quick chain with Ron and Luna, and rushing the field.

"What? Where is he? Draco, where is Harry!?"

Because, sure enough, by the time they had reached the pitch, Harry was nowhere to be seen. Draco craned his neck on the last step of the stands, and watched as Harry slumped away with Mad Eye Moody half carrying, half dragging him.

"Hermione, you will forgive me for this one day. Stay here. I'm going after them! I KNOW something is up with Moody!"

Draco caught up to them at the stones steps to Moody's office, but something stopped him from reaching out, a feeling in the pit of his stomach. He stood, wand drawn, outside the door, listening hard. Call it instinct, or the result of being raised by a Death Eater, but Draco had the distinct feeling that he needed more evidence. Of course, what he heard should have shocked him. It didn't. He just felt like Sherlock Holmes in those old Muggle stories, all the clues clicking into place, an 'AHA!' moment in his brain.

He whirled through the door, with a thunderous "STUPEFY!" the second he heard the final cackle from the madman inside, but he almost needn't have bothered, as Dumbledore and McGonagall swooped past him, grabbing Harry out of the way, and watching the large man tumble backward.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" Snape urged, not waiting for an answer.

Harry stood up carefully, and backed up until he was standing beside Draco. He still looked very unsteady, and Draco instinctively held him up under the arm. He sagged a bit, gratefully, and Draco directed him to a nearby chair as the teachers bound Moody. Or not Moody, as it quickly became apparent.

As they watched the entire scene in front of them, Draco tried to summon shock, and failed miserably. It was just so…Hogwarts. To have a teacher who was actually a Death Eater, who was actually a Minister's son, who was actually an escaped convict. To have the real teacher locked in a crate all year. He didn't even flinch. He did, however, keep waiting to be told to leave, but either the adults had all forgotten that they were there, or Draco was experiencing a small glimpse of what it was to be Harry Potter, and they heard everything.

"You okay?" Harry said as they stood to follow Dumbledore. "You look paler than usual."

"Is this what it's always like, for you? They just…let you hear stuff."

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Master Draco," Dumbledore said, seeming to notice him for the first time. "Your friends have been waiting for you in the Great Hall for some time, I am told. You are free to go. I need to talk to Harry for a moment. Feel free to share whatever you wish. Please let them know that Harry is safe."

Draco nodded once and walked away through the dark corridors. They were empty, except for the drifting ghosts, and he assumed that someone had had the brilliant idea of putting all the students in the Great Hall. It felt like a ludicrous afterthought, considering what he'd just seen, but nonetheless, he walked inside and felt an immediate hush fall. He went directly to the Gryffindor table, and found none of the people he was looking for.

"Draco!" he heard from the floor to his left. His eyes refocused and he finally saw them in the whispered hush, sitting in a cluster, holding onto each other and trying to look like things were perfectly fine.

"Hermione?" he replied, confused.

"We decided to give the little kids the table space. There wasn't room- all the schools in here when it isn't mealtime. They must change things when we're all here," she replied, shaking her head in confusion, patting the floor beside her at the edge of the teacher's dais at the front. He sat down heavily.

"Harry's okay. Everything else is mental. The long and short of it is….I don't even know. Moody was actually Barty Crouch Jr…and a Death Eater. And he had the real Moody locked in a chest. And he's been the reason for everything, all year…"

"Draco.…" Neville said carefully.

"Oh, yeah. And Cedric Diggory is…he's really dead."

They all reacted. Draco felt sure that they had reacted, but he was barely present. He barely heard them because now, away from Harry and the mad statements of the crazy people, the reality of the situation was clicking into place. The actions of his father all summer. The changes in the nightmares Harry had been having. The warnings from Sirius and the general distraction of Harry. It all made sense, it all clicked into place. Suddenly, Draco couldn't breathe. Suddenly, his heart was racing and his head was spinning, and he felt very, very warm.

"Draco? D, mate, you okay?" Neville was in front of him, his face inches from his own, worried expression as Draco scrubbed his hair and gulped for air.

He shook his head.

"Okay. You need to get outside. Out of here. Come on. Luna, grab Hermione and Ron. We are going out."

"Neville, what's wrong?"

"Think he's having a panic attack."

Draco kept gasping and gulping all the way to the front steps. It was a sign of the sheer chaos of the situation that no one tried to stop them. He felt better as the fresh night air filled his lungs, and he lurched forward, walking until he hit grass, then dropping to his knees, pulling his robes away from his neck and taking deep breaths. Neville knelt down beside him, not quite touching him, but close enough for Draco to know he was there. It was immensely comforting. Finally, he calmed down enough to say, "Sorry".

"Don't apologise. Draco, what is it? Why did you…is it just-"

"He's back. Neville, he's definitely back. I should have seen it sooner."

"Draco, I don't understand. Who's back?"

Draco looked up at his friend, put his hand on his shoulder, and shuddered entirely before replying in a tight whisper.

"Voldemort."

"Oh," said Neville in a barely audible voice.

* * *

They all spent the next three weeks in a haze. Time sped up and slowed down at the same time.

Once, Draco fell asleep in the wing chair in the Gryffindor common room beside Harry, Ron and Hermione nestled on the couch, Neville on the floor. When he woke at three in the morning, he panicked for a moment until he noticed the common room hadn't reacted in anyway, no normal bite back, no rash, no pain. He wondered for a moment, but then realised that trying to figure out the ways of the castle was pointless. Instead, he turned over, snuggled back into the chair, banked the fire with his wand, and went back to sleep in the weird warmth he'd created; so different from his own house, where falling asleep in the common room led to definite pranks and freezing feet. Here, he was surrounded by his friends, and feeling only slightly safer than normal at the sound of their gentle breathing.

He watched as Harry moved around the castle in a zombie-like fashion, answering questions robotically, packing because Hermione made him, talking to Cedric's family and barely keeping it together. He tried to just be there to listen when Harry would randomly start talking. They had agreed that Harry was not to be left alone; normally, it would have been something that would have driven the boy insane, and it was a testament to how messy things were that he instead seemed grateful.

Suddenly, without anyone noticing how much time had past, it was the last day. And they were listening to Dumbledore remind them about a boy they hadn't really known. And it hurt. It was painful. But then, life had to go on. Draco was going to make life go on.

"Harry," he said, as they sat on the train. "Are you going to be okay?"

"I dunno, Draco. Are any of us okay?" Harry replied, sounding more annoyed than sad.

They were alone in the compartment. Luna and Neville had gone to sit in the caboose until they couldn't see the castle anymore. Ron and Ginny had dragged Hermione off to plan some not-so-secret mission entitled 'buy all the candy'.

"No," Draco whispered.

"Are you...will you be safe?" Harry said, rather aggressively, not looking at him.

"Dunno."

"Well, try to be, okay? And write if you aren't. Fred and George are good rescuers."

"Okay. Hey, Hare?"

"Hm?" Harry was looking out the window, arms cross and expression foul. Draco wasn't convinced he was being listened to, but he powered on through anyway.

"I'm sorry. About this year? About being...not really being...I've been sort of a shit friend?"

Harry sighed, and his arms dropped sadly. He looked very small all of a sudden.

"Draco, you haven't been...I mean, okay, so maybe you have. But I have been a shittier one."

"Well, you had a reason."

"We all have our reasons. But hey, listen. I didn't...we are fine, mate. I swear it. I'm really glad you were there for all of them this year. Because I know they can technically take care of themselves, and it isn't fair to think this way, but it makes me feel less guilty to know that you and Neville are there when you..."

He paused, looking at Draco sidelong, "Did this conversation just get way too sappy?"

Draco smirked, "Yeah. Think it did. We're good though?"

"Definitely."

"K. Good."

"You coming this summer?"

"That gonna be an option?"

"Dunno. Maybe I can come to the Burrow instead? And Neville too? We can bring a tent!"

Harry grinned a sudden Potter grin, and Draco felt his whole body relax. He hadn't realised how tensed he'd been until he saw Harry sink further into his seat too.

"We should make Ron make that happen," Harry said, nodding with enthusiasm. "It'd be nice to have a whole Quidditch team. Wanna just plan it that way? So you get a break from your family too?"

Draco nodded and dropped the conversation. But the silence this time felt less weighty, and when the others returned to the car, making it way too full and noisy, and fuelled by too much sugar, it just felt warm and nice. Not perfect, still a bit twisted and hurt and a little broken. But nice. And there was hope and peace in that.

The rest of the train ride passed too quickly, until they were once again on the platform. Draco glared at the Muggles while Harry glared at Lucius. He turned to grab his trunk.

"Write when you find work," Harry said, smiling to himself.

"What?"

"Nevermind. See you soon, D."

"Bye, Hare."

"Both of you, WRITE ME WHEN YOU NEED TO BE FREED," Ron said way too loudly, causing Vernon to flinch, and Lucius to cross his arms.

They all left laughing.


	5. Fifth Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you read this, a few apologies. This chapter is why I don't usually do WIPs...it nearly defeated me.
> 
> 1\. You know how the books got exponentially longer as time went on? Apparently these chapters are going to as well. I have literally never appreciated how much goes down in fifth year until now...sorry bout the 15k thing. I tried to split it up to help.
> 
> 2\. Lots more AU starting here. Draco doesn't slot into the timeline as easily from this point on, but because I ascribe to the Doctor Who philosophy of 'fixed points in time', so some stuff HAS to happen for other things to remain true. Hang onto your hats.

 

Fifth Year

_1\. Summer_

Draco had been home a few days when he realized that if he didn't figure something out, he may not actually survive the summer. In any other place, at any other time, there was a chance that this sentiment would have been overly dramatic. It didn't feel like it was now.

Lucius had grown wary of everything. Frequently tugged by the distinct movement of the mark on his arm, he would disappear sporadically, returning even more flighty and skittish, pallid and angry at the same time. He was brutal with everyone, the elves baring the vast majority of his ire. He would strike without warning, and occasionally lock one or many of them up in the hall cupboard for their presumed transgressions. Draco watched as his mother became more and more unwilling to leave his side believing that she that she forestalled his anger. She was wrong, but that was Narcissa Malfoy's greatest fault; loyalty to those she loved. Draco, had he not loved her too fiercely in his own right, may have felt guilty for her.

As it was, he merely toed the line, tried to keep his father calm as well, so that she would not be punished for his mistakes as well as her own. It didn't solve anything. It didn't stop his broken fingers, all on his left hand so that their dinner guests would not notice. It didn't stop the gritty, garish sound of the lock on his bedroom door each night. He assumed that Lucius felt safer, knowing that Draco was locked away in his room each night, without an owl, without a way to contact his ludicrous and inappropriate friends.

For that had been the main problem that Lucius had pinpointed that summer. Draco, frankly, was only surprised that it had taken this long to come to a head. He'd been waiting for Lucius' anger since that first day on the train. He was friends with mudbloods and blood traitors and sympathizers after all.

But Lucius.

Lucius Abraxas Armand Malfoy was a man of steely patience. After all, he had waited out the return of the Dark Lord for a decade. He did not require speedy justice, instant gratification, immediate reparation of wrongs done. He was now, however, ready to use the benefit of Draco's friends to his advantage.

On his tenth day home, Draco came down to breakfast to find Lucius Malfoy waiting with tea. He had not been at breakfast since Draco had first returned, and Draco was instantly worried to find that Lucius appeared to have slept the whole night at the Manor, and intended to dine with his family. He sat without commenting, and drank the proffered tea. It was possible, he would later think, that the tea had tasted more bitter than normal.

In the hours that followed, Lucius increased that original dose of Veritaserum to beyond the legal limit. He asked Draco every question imaginable about the friends he had made at school. About Harry Potter. And while Draco could not pretend to himself that he had hidden anything after that second dose, it was also true that his bizarre fourth year had made it true that he actually knew very little that was of any use to Malfoy, or to the Dark Lord. Which had only lead to frustration, and more anger.

By the time Draco had been allowed to leave the study where Lucius had kept him all morning, he was shaking and bruised, albeit in places where no one would ever see. He could barely stand.

And just like that, the questioning stopped again. Lucius left him alone, ignored him in fact, for the next three days. His bedroom door continued to be barricaded at night, but Draco could live with that. He wrote a letter to his friends, copying the same words many times, assuring them that the Manor was in full summer beauty, that they should be jealous of the grounds, that he was happily exploring the East gardens once more. He convinced his mother to send the letters, and she did with barely a nod. He could handle this, all on his own. Harry had enough to worry about. Neville was with his Gran, who needed him more than Draco. Hermione was with the Muggles, and could hardly help any of them. And Ron, well, all the Weasleys really? He'd just put them in more danger to complain about Lucius. Plus, what good was any of it? He had no information at all, did he? He had imagined ideas of what the world was becoming, but he had no evidence of the things that were come to pass. He'd just deal.

Then, on his fifteenth day in the Manor, in the middle of the night, Draco bolted awake to the sound of the lock on his door scraping back. He forced himself not to grab his wand. It would do him no good.

When the door flung open, however, he was shocked to find his Mother standing there instead.

"Draco," she whispered with vehemence. "Get up. Have you unpacked your trunk? Never mind if you have, just pack a small bag."

"I...What?"

"Quickly, my ducky. There is little time to explain."

"I.…I didn't unpack my trunk. It's in the observatory. Just my…my summer things are here."

"Very well. I'll go shrink it. You get dressed. Travelling cloak and broom, too, darling. Hogwarts things. I'll bring Hercules down too. His cage is with your trunk?"

"Yes, but, Mother-"

"Five minutes, darling. By the front door. I'll explain as we walk to the gate."

Something about the look on her face just then stopped his further questions. He hurriedly dressed, threw his few essentials in a bag. When he got to the front foyer, moving silently through corridors he knew better than any other place in the world, he found his mother standing beside a House-elf. She passed him Hercules' cage and a small rucksack he had never seen before, which presumably contained his trunk. She shushed him as he tried to begin speaking, and spelled open the door, which opened easily and noiselessly on its huge brass hinges. Once on the walkway, fifty feet or so from the door, she turned to him and grappled him into a tight, motherly hug. A hug that Draco wasn't sure she'd ever given him before.

"Listen to me, Draco," she said quietly. "He…I don't know what he plans. He thinks it's for the good of all of us. When I was younger….Well, it used to seem so glamourous. We were both raised with certain…ideas. I don't know what he wants, now, but I do know this. It's bigger than him. Bigger than any of us. And I find that I don't know if that is a good thing. Not anymore. So, you are going to go. Just for the summer."

"Mother, I can't. He'll-"

"Oh, he's agreed. Or, at least he thinks he has. This nighttime exodus…it isn't about your father."

Draco inhaled sharply, catching her meaning.

"So, where?"

"Well, he thinks you're going to stay with my cousins in France."

"And where am I going instead?"

"Draco.…I just…This may be your last real summer, for a while. The last time you are free to…So, go. Just go and be fifteen. We may not have a chance again."

Draco pulled out of his mother's grasp, and looked up at her face.

"Mother, I don't have to- That's not what's important. I should be here, with you. Should be…supporting my family."

Narcissa made a sound that was halfway a hiss, and halfway that of complete contempt. A voice he had never heard from her. A lot of firsts, tonight, it would seem.

"There is nothing you can do, not here, not right now. Nothing is going to change, if I know anything. Not for…a while. You should go and enjoy what time you can. I had a letter from my sister, Andromeda. She is going to take you to your friends. Dobby here is going to take you part way. He won't know, because when he tries to track you, you will appear to be with my family. There is nothing he can do because of our blood magic, the thread between you and I. I don't pretend that it is enough, or that it will be worth anything later, but I want you to go, Draco darling."

Draco had no words, and for a moment, he just looked at his mother. He knew she was right. There was nothing he could do, not here. He looked down at the elf at his feet and nodded.

"Thank you, Mother. I-"

"Draco, let's not forget ourselves. Chin up, my boy. You look so much _more_ , when your chin is up."

She turned on a precise heel, worn even in the dead of night, and walked back up the path without a second glance. Draco took a deep breath.

"Master Draco?"

"Yes. Dobby, sorry. I'm ready."

And with that, the elf apparated them both into the darkness.

When they landed again, the countryside had fallen away and the city was looming large around them. Dobby beckoned him and they began to walk down a deserted street, tall houses on one side, gardens on the other. The silence and the streetlamps dragged Draco's attention to the slight limp in his companion's gait.

"Dobby, what…are you alright?"

"Master Draco is too kind to ask," Dobby said, cautiously.

The wary tone of his voice dragged liberation fronts and Hermione Granger to the forefront of his mind, things that had fallen out of his focus in the short amount of time he'd been away. He sighed. Dobby, he knew, was technically not afraid of him so much as he was afraid of Lucius. But Draco had never actually uttered a kind word to the elf, he knew that too. There was no point in dwelling on it now, but he had to move forward.

"I _am_ asking, Dobby."

"Master Malfoy is angry with us many days, now. It is Dobby's fault. He left the ironing too long. He was not to be left unpunished, sir."

"Dobby...how. Well, I mean, does he often call on you specifically? Or just for one of the four of you?"

"Master Draco?"

"I just...never mind. I shouldn't have said anything. It doesn't matter anyway," he replied, rummaging in his rucksack now. He pulled out a long, green scarf that he had been meaning to get rid of. "Dobby, stop a moment."

"Master Draco, we mustn't. It is not safe. We will be at Master Draco's friend's house soon."

"What? No we won't…this isn't…they said the Burrow was in a field? Never mind that, Dobby. Stop."

Accidently having given an order, the elf gave a sound of slight distress but did stop.

"Dobby, you are aware that I am now fifteen?"

"Sir?"

"That at fifteen, the wards of Malfoy Manor transfer to me as well? That, if anything were to happen to my father, there would be an immediate transfer to me? Despite the fact that I have not reached 17?"

"Master Draco, Dobby has served the Malfoy family since before Master Lucius came of age. Dobby know the laws?" Dobby's voice was squeakier now, and he was nearly shaking into the sidewalk in fear.

"Exactly. You follow my orders, as well as my fathers. You acknowledge that I am your Master?"

"Y-Yes, Sir."

"Well, then, er….here."

Dobby reached out and took the thing proffered to him. He looked at it for a long moment, before stretching it out to its full length.

"Master...master has given Dobby…"

"Clothes. Yes."

"Dobby is a free elf! Why, Master Draco?"

"I've just...let's say it's for a friend."

"Dobby must thank Master Draco."

"What? No, no, Dobby. It's fine. Just…show me where we're going, please. Then you can go…Where will you go, Dobby?"

"Dobby will go to Hogwarts, Sir! Master Dumbledore will know what to do. Dobby has dreamed and dreamed of this day. He never expected to find a Master Malfoy so magnanimous, so generous, so-"

"Yeah, yeah. Dobby, look, it's fine. I just… I know my father too, alright? Please, can you just take me the rest of the way?"

"You are here, Mr. Malfoy," a new, deep voice that was disturbingly familiar ground out. Clearly, the voice was not overly happy to see him. When Draco looked up, he could see why.

"Professor...er…Mr…"

"Moody'll do fine, boy. Quickly now, get yourself out of the street. Bring your elf."

"Dobby is a free elf!" Dobby yelled, before clicking his fingers, obviously satisfied that he had delivered his charge, and Apparated away.

"What on Earth-"

"It's rather a long story," Draco said, suddenly exhausted.

"One that can wait until tomorrow, I daresay. We have a few of our own, as you can imagine. In."

Draco dragged himself up the long dark steps and calmly shook Moody's proffered hand. It was unnerving, but he felt confident that this was now really Moody. Dumbledore would not have allowed the same oversight twice. They entered a long, dank corridor, and he felt wards dispelled as he followed Moody's uneasy gait.

"Draco," a warm voice called to him from the end of the corridor. "Draco, dear. Welcome. Sorry, such an odd situation, but the others will be glad to see you."

Draco accepted Mrs. Weasley's hug a little uncomfortably. It felt like this welcome was a tad too warm. After all, he'd only really met her twice, and there was the fact of animosity between their two families. Still, he did his best to smile and thank her.

"Are you hungry, dear? No, no I suppose not. It is rather late. Well, we have a bed made up for you. Straight upstairs and to the right. Off you go now dear. Plenty of time to discuss things in the morning."

Draco nodded, gulping down his many questions, and climbed the stairs into the darkness. He pushed the door open and was immediately accosted by a squeal, his arms full of an overexcited and bushy haired ball of fury.

"Draco!"

"Oof."

"Hermione, let the man put down his rucksack. Hiya, mate."

"Hiya, Ron. Hermione."

"Sorry, D. Just a bit…excited you're here."

"I'm glad that someone is," Draco muttered. "I'm mostly confused."

"Come, sit, sit. We can tell you what we can."

What fell from Hermione's mouth over the next half hour was extremely confusing. A tale of years, not two weeks. Secret societies and uprisings. Things that Draco wasn't sure he should know, let alone understand. He nodded along, asked light questions where he could, most of which consisted of 'wait, Sirius and Lupin are here?' and 'where's Harry?'. It wasn't overly helpful, and his brain was having a hard time taking on information, which could have been because the information was confusing, but was more likely because his mother had hugged him and called him darling no fewer than four times, before sending him into the middle of the night under the care of a House-elf. A House-elf he had just freed. He had no doubt he would come to regret that decision, if only because of Lucius.

"Right," said Ron suddenly. "I'm starving. Gonna go see if I can't sneak something from the kitchen. Want anything?"

Hermione murmured no, and Draco asked for something sweet, and Ron loped down the stairs. It wasn't really possible, but he seemed to have grown another six inches in the two weeks they'd been away. He'd tower over all of them soon. Draco sighed.

"Draco," Hermione started. "Are you okay?"

"It's not as simple as that, anymore, is it Hermione?"

"Guess not, but you know what I mean."

"Yeah. Sorry. I'm very…morose."

"You're tired."

"That too," Draco smiled ruefully, slinging a careless arm across Hermione's shoulders in an attempt to comfort his bushy-haired, constantly-worried friend. They sat on the floor, leaning on the twin bed that he assumed had been transfigured for him. He had done this countless times, this meaningless action of friendship, since they were eleven. But whether it was the situation, or the late hour, or something else entirely, the arm felt all wrong right now. Charged and heavy with meaning, and entirely wrong. He patted Hermione on the shoulder as though he had always meant to move away again, and then folded his long form back in on itself. She looked at him sidelong, a weird, questioning look that made Draco chuff in frustration.

"Well, I guess I should go back to bed myself, actually. We can talk more tomorrow."

"Yeah. Hey, Hermione?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm okay."

"Well, good. Night, Draco."

"Night."

And technically, he was okay. He got into bed comfortably, despite it being a bit too lumpy from transfiguration, and a bit too warm in the cramped room. Still, he knew the door would remain unlocked, and he didn't even jump when Ron shuffled back in and sat down on his own bed, a pile of weird snack-like items on a plate before him.

"You asleep? I found chocolate frogs."

"I'm not, but I think…I don't want one, now."

"K," Ron said, shrug firmly on his shoulders, even in the almost pitch dark. Draco did sigh now. Sharing a room with Ron wasn't entirely what he had in mind for the rest of his summer.

"Ron, is she…you know, telling me everything?"

There was a distinct pause. A very Weasley-esque pause. He was cataloguing the information, trying to sort out what was going to be a problem, how much trouble he'd get in. Draco almost laughed. Ron was not the subtle type, and yet he never seemed to notice that he was very obvious. It was almost…endearing. On the other hand, it was incredibly frustrating and predictable.

"Yes," Ron answered finally.

"Ron. Please. We've known each other four years. I know when you are lying. Explain."

"Well, I mean…there is a slight chance that Hermione failed to mention the…er…argument."

"What argument?"

"When you, erm, Aunt called Moody, there was some hesitation. About you coming to headquarters."

"Because Malfoy."

"Because Malfoy."

"Was it...It's Sirius, right? He was the one who didn't want me here?"

"Yeah. Um. How did you know that?"

"I had an inkling that he didn't like me. Last year…the distance between Harry and I. It was because he warned him not to tell me too much, right?"

"Look, mate, this is a conversation you need to have with Harry. Or maybe Sirius. But, I'm not-"

"I know. I know, Ron. I'm sorry. How'd you end up stuck in here with me, though?"

"What? What do you mean? We're mates."

"Well yeah, but-"

"Draco. We're mates. What is your question?"

Draco smiled and turned over, "Guess nothing."

"Good."

* * *

The next two weeks were very strange. The three of them spent their days playing random games of chess, or exploring the very creepy house. Their leisure time was interspersed by terse tasks doled out by Mrs. Weasley.

Draco mostly kept quiet and did as he was asked, avoiding the glares from Sirius Black, who lurked in the shadows and watched him for far more time than was ever comfortable. Remus Lupin, he discovered, was a pretty decent human. He would bring them all tea in the afternoon, often helped them finish whatever crazy cleaning task they were meant to be finishing, and generally listened quite well. Hermione was watching Draco more than was strictly necessary, and she wasn't stupid, she knew he had noticed. He was most likely thinking that she was checking for emotional breakdown at any second, when he would either kill them all, or destroy all the throw pillows. He tried to ignore it, she knew he was. It wasn't surprising. Hermione worrying over him was hardly a new thing.

Hermione was worried, but that wasn't the problem. That wasn't why she had spent every night since Draco arrived sitting in the spare second floor sitting room, lighting tiny fires and distractedly flipping through a book she wasn't reading. She was definitely not getting enough sleep. Ron was oblivious, and Draco seemed to just think she was being mother-hen like. Which was very annoying if she stopped to think about it. Since her problem was distinctly…not mother like. Still. She tried her best not to think about it.

One day, Remus found her in the garden as she grumpily hosed the large glass vases they had just cleared of spider eggs. She was in a foul mood. Having barely slept, and then spent the day on laborious tasks, she was aching from head to toe. So, when Remus appeared, in his habitual slightly rumpled cardigan, placid grin, tea in hand, Hermione was not in a mood to humour him, and she may have actually glared.

"Trade you?" Remus said, offering tea and taking the garden hose from her hands and ignoring her temper.

"Thanks," she replied without looking up.

"I wanted to tell you," Remus said, eyeing her carefully. "Harry'll be here tomorrow. You, uh, shouldn't tell the others just yet."

"Okay. Thanks," Hermione said, confused. Both about why Remus thought she needed to know this more than the others, and about why Harry's arrival needed to be a secret.

"He isn't a bad bloke, you know. I think even Sirius has realised."

"What? Professor Lupin?"

"Remus, please. Draco, I mean. He is far more decent than his father was, that's for sure. I feel like you lot may have more than a little to do with that. Just thought I should tell you, we've changed our minds. It's not like Sirius is going to say anything."

"Look, don't worry about it. I think he's sort of used to it."

"Well, that may be true, but with Sirius…well, he just takes some time, to trust people. They've never really…well, he's wary."

"From what Harry has told me, that seems fair."

"Oh, definitely. But, what I meant was, Draco is a good sort of person, Hermione. So, it's fine really."

Hermione felt her face flush, and looked away, busying herself with tea drinking. Remus Lupin's knowing gaze had always made her uncomfortable, and she wasn't enjoying it now.

"Well, yes," she said finally. "He's a good friend. I don't know why that should matter."

"Oh, but you do know, Ms. Granger. Otherwise, you'd be far less tired at the moment. Anyway, I'll leave you to it. I'm off on business. I'll see you in a few days. Be gentle tomorrow. With Harry? I suspect he's had a bad summer."

"I think I know the feeling. "

"Yes. I think we all do, hm?"

She looked up at Remus harshly, and nodded. After all, it was true.

Hermione, of course, did tell Ron and Draco of Harry's imminent arrival. They waited late into the night, the three of them huddled in the quiet darkness of the second floor sitting room. Eventually, though, Hermione had to admit defeat and trucked off to bed, a week of not really sleeping catching up. Ron eventually followed suit, arguing that if there was anything they needed to know before morning someone would wake him. Draco nodded, pretending to agree, and said he'd follow in a moment. But he stayed right where he didn't seem to notice, and no one else bothered to come and tell him to go to bed. He suspected that if Mrs. Weasley found him, he'd get a firm telling off, but until then, he was free to wait anxiously.

He wasn't entirely sure why he was anxious, other than the obvious 'there was a dark lord and a war' business. He sat with _The Prophet_ in his lap, reading the article about Harry and Dumbledore over and over again. He was trying to formulate a plan, a way to tell Harry everything that had been happening over the course of the summer. If he knew Harry at all- and he suspected he did- it was not going to go over well, the knowledge that the Minister was denying everything, that there was a chance the rest of the Wizarding world thought Harry was making it all up. Technically, Draco mused, no one would really take the news that people thought they were crazy well. But Harry would be very Gryffindor about the whole thing. He knew it was going to be bad.

He was completely unprepared, however, for Harry being angry with _him_.

"What are you doing up," Harry said, sticking his head through the doorframe to source the small light that was emanating from the room.

"Well, I mean, thought you'd have questions," Draco said, sensing that caution was necessary, and deeply aware of the fact that any second, there was going to be a fight.

"Yeah? And why would I want you to answer them?" he said, flinging himself onto the couch opposite Draco.

"Well, because I've been here for a month? And I won't sugar-coat things like Hermione?"

"'Course you've been here a month. Makes perfect sense that they'd let you come here, and not me, the one who actually needed help. The one who actually saw Voldemort."

"Harry," Draco said calmly, even though he was actually already annoyed with Harry and his tone. "You know you had to stay with the Muggles until Dumbledore-"

"Whatever. Just go to bed, Draco."

"No."

"NO?"

" _No._ "

"Well…"

They sat in silence for a while, anger palpable in the room.

"Fine. Questions. Where are we?"

"Headquarters. Apparently, this…Order thing, it was around…last time."

"No one thought to send me a letter?"

"We wanted to. We weren't supposed to tell you anything."

"Sure, of course, not like you're my _friends_ or anything."

"Harry," Draco began, but Harry was standing up now. Pacing back and forth.

"No, you know what Draco, save it! Seriously? You weren't 'supposed' to tell me anything!? When has that ever stopped us from doing anything! Ever! You've all been here, together, and I've been stuck at the Dursley's, for FOUR WEEKS! WITH NO NEWS! NONE! And it's ME! Who fought Voldemort!? Who saw him kill Cedric? ALL ME! AND I'VE BEEN SITTING THERE IN LITTLE WHINGING WITH NO NEWS! It's not bloody fair!"

Draco was well and truly mad now. He wasn't exactly free of blame in this tirade, he knew, but he was hardly going to sit there and apologise to Harry, not when his summer had not exactly been full of ice cream and lounging by pools. He stood up himself and faced Harry, who was still going on and on, about being left behind, about nobody caring, and Draco snapped.

"You know what, Harry? NO. Enough. We didn't tell you anything because it wasn't safe, not because Dumbledore told us not to! What, did you want Hermione to send you a letter saying, 'oh, and by the way Harry, we are staying at a house in London that is the headquarters of a secret society trying to take down You-Know-Who'. Don't worry!'?"

Harry stared, finally shutting up, but he wasn't done.

"Or maybe, I was supposed to send you one from Malfoy Manor? 'Hiya Harry, just chilling in the middle of Death Eater Central. Any chance you want to come hang out? My father only locks me in at night, so we'll have lots of time to plot the destruction of the Dark Lord!'. Seriously, Harry, you are not the only one who has had a crap summer! You don't have a monopoly on shitty families! Or on being angry! None of us know what's going on right now! So just shut up! Shut up about your stupid Muggle family! At least yours has no clue what is going on! At least yours isn't on the side of the fucking DARK LORD."

Exhausted, all of a sudden, and very inexplicably out of breath, Draco sat down and put his head in his hands. He suddenly realised the full weight of what he was in the middle of. He had known, technically, but it was just sinking in. His friends didn't really understand, he didn't think. They didn't realise the cost of being friends with them, of turning his back on his Pureblood parents, of trying to skirt the line between what was the 'good' and what was the 'evil', the danger of trying to be on both sides. Sure, he was here now. He was surrounded by those fighting against, but this was temporary. And not real. He knew that at some point, he'd have to go back home. He knew that at some point, he was going to have to pretend to be the other side, even if just to keep himself alive. And all these things made it very hard to care that Harry was a little affronted, a little upset, even if that anger was completely justified.

"I'm sorry," he said into his hands. "I'm sorry…I didn't mean it."

Harry sat down heavily on the couch opposite him.

"Draco...I…I didn't think. I'm-"

"Don't. Let's just…not, okay? I'm sorry, you were right. You saw…well, him. And Cedric. I know. You don't have to be okay. We just have to…carry on, you know?"

"Well, yeah, I guess."

"We have to write O.W.L.s this year. How insane does that seem right now?"

Harry laughed bitterly, and Draco looked up questioningly.

"Well, you guys will have to. I was expelled."

"What?"

"There was a whole thing with a Dementor…"

And without warning, Draco was laughing. Hysterically. Clutching his sides, laughing.

"How on EARTH is this funny, Draco?"

"Harry Potter, the boy who always manages to make things worse!"

"Hey, it's not my fault!"

But Draco was laughing too hard now to listen. Before long, Harry was smirking too.

"Well, I'm glad you are finding this so funny. I hope it keeps being funny when I'm not at school to rescue you from your little battles with Hermione."

"Oh, relax," Draco said between breaths. "Dumbledore isn't going to let them expel you, for merlin's sake."

"I don't know if that makes a difference."

"It will. Don't worry. Besides, it'll be hard to have little battles with Hermione when she's barely speaking to me."

"What? Why? What did you do?"

"No idea. It's weird. She's…well, she's just sort of watching me."

"Huh."

"Yup. Come on, I'll show you where we are all sleeping."

Having Harry there seemed to tilt the balance back toward normalcy, and everyone got along better for the next few weeks. If they pretended, it could almost have been any summer, and they tried hard to keep things light. They kept trying to listen in on meetings, kept trying to get information where they could, but learned very little. The twins continued Apparating everywhere, managing to scare everyone except Draco, who had grown up in a house full of House-elves that Apparated everywhere. Draco got a letter from Dobby, who was now comfortably installed in the Hogwarts kitchen, and Hermione turned bright red and gave him a large hug when he told her the story of freeing him.

When the Prefect letters arrived, there were awkward consolatory statements to Harry, but he mostly seemed to find it amusing that Ron and Draco were being entrusted with rule-following and guidance. No one felt the same way about Hermione.

Draco was a tad surprised to find himself prefect; then again, Snape was still head of house. He vaguely wondered who else would be with him, but dismissed the thought immediately. It would obviously be Pansy. No one would trust Millie. Or Daphne, for that matter. And Pansy may not be the best Prefect choice ever, but she was certainly better than about half their year. He resigned himself to having to spend a lot more time around Parkinson.

He made a mental note to brush up on his stinging jinxes.

* * *

2\. _Fall_

Suddenly, they were back on the train. Time seemed to have sped up and thrown them back onto the school grounds without anyone noticing it. The four of them climbed out onto the platform, and Draco immediately started looking around for Neville. He had been away all summer, abroad with his gran, and no one had heard from him all summer. Without finding him, he climbed into the carriages behind Harry, who seemed utterly shaken by something. Draco was too distracted to listen to the conversation, especially when he still hadn't seen Neville as they filtered into the dining hall and sat down for the sorting.

Sitting at the Slytherin table, he found himself craning his neck constantly, worry creeping into his thoughts without his permission. Surely, if something had happened to Longbottom over the summer, they would have found out. Someone would have said something. He missed most of the sorting hat's song, and Pansy's excited chatter as the food appeared, and only dragged his attention back to the room when a small, very pink witch interrupted Dumbledore.

No one interrupted Dumbledore.

The room had gone completely silent, and more than one person was sitting in open-mouthed shock at the tiny witch, whose rambling introduction grew more and more concerning. She finished, and with a jolt, Draco realised he wasn't even going to have time to talk to Hermione about the ridiculous speech. Which was annoying. He was already resenting this stupid Prefect role; it was going to limit his already limited time to talk to his friends.

As Dumbledore released the school, he jumped up quickly to try one last time to find Neville, but gave up as students shuffled forward. He resigned himself to his fate and led the first-years out into the corridor and down to the dungeons. He satisfied himself with lounging in the common room with everyone else, catching up as though nothing had changed, as though he wasn't surrounded by other Purebloods whose parents had likely spent the summer much as his own had. The Slytherins artfully avoided discussing anything that may implicate their families in any future unpleasantness, and the speaking in half-truths and false joviality was sort of comforting, refreshing after the summer of Gryffindors. Almost like a game. By the time they went to bed, anticipating the rigorous schedules they would have the next day, Draco felt oddly calm. It was strange, living the way he did, but being back to being two halves of a whole felt right. Felt normal. And he had desperately been craving normal.

The Slytherins began their first morning of fifth year with an early morning trek down to Herbology. Draco hadn't been up that early in two months, and he barely made it to breakfast to grab a slice of toast before having to run across the grounds. The rest of their morning was spent in the greenhouses, followed by a predictably boring lecture by Professor Binns, meaning that he didn't see anyone but his own housemates until lunch. Smiling at Pansy, who simply smiled back and muttered, 'go', he forced himself not to run down to the Great Hall. He sighed in relief when he saw four people, all in a cluster, sitting at the Gryffindor table.

"Neville Longbottom!" Draco shouted, slapping Neville across the head, possibly less gently than he'd meant to, judging by Neville's muttered 'ow'. "Where the hell have you been?"

"Woah, watch it there, mate. You sound an awful lot like my mum," Ron said, laughing.

"Hi Draco?" Neville said cautiously. "Good to see you too?"

"I think it's safe to assume that Draco didn't see you come into dinner last night," Hermione said, not looking up from her timetable.

"Er, yeah, I was a bit late. Was helping Hagrid with…something."

"Curiously aloof?"

"Tell me about it," Harry said. "It's dead annoying."

"What's got his knickers in a twist?" Draco asked, pointing at Harry.

"Fight with Seamus. Doesn't believe him," Ron muttered through a mouthful of food.

"Doesn't believe him? Doesn't believe him about what?"

The Gryffindors all just looked at him.

"What?! Are you serious! Let me go talk to him."

"Draco," they all said at once.

"Bad idea," Hermione asserted. "How was your morning?"

Draco made a noise of irritation, even as he sat back down, realising they were entirely right.

"Meh. Binns and greenhouses. You?"

"Ah. He has not had the privilege of Defence yet," Hermione said, looking up at him for the first time and smiling in a slightly maniacal way.

"No?"

"Just you wait."

Draco helped himself to some pie from the platter in front of him as the others went back to eating. He poured himself some pumpkin juice, but his mind was reeling slowly. There were a whole pile of emotions floating through him right now, and he wasn't sure how to approach any of them with the pile of bad-at-emotions Gryffindors sitting in front of him. He knew he had to, at least for some of the things, but he wasn't sure how to start. He stalled for time by studying Neville. Unlike the others, whose growth he had likely imagined since he'd seen them all summer, there was definite 'just turned 15' going on in Neville. His brain helpfully pointed out that normal teenagers likely didn't track the growth of their friends so closely. Still, notice he did. Whatever, he was a Malfoy. Malfoy and normal didn't exactly go hand in hand.

Neville had grown by several inches, and the height had helped him lose some of the baby fat he had still carried at the end of last year. His features had lengthened as well, and he was growing into his lanky features. He'd clearly been outside all summer, and his skin was…

 _Nope_ , Draco halted his thoughts. _Height is one thing. Noticing skin is quite another. New subject._

"Got a letter this morning."

No one responded. Ron made a slight 'hmm' noise as though to admit that Draco had spoken, but Harry kept reading his Quidditch magazine, and Neville kept cutting his pie, and Hermione was still striking at her time table with a red biro. Draco cleared his throat and tried again.

"Got a letter this morning. From my father."

At this, the other four stopped dead. Hermione looked up, caught Draco's eye.

"Yup. First time since I left the house. Apparently, we are ignoring my absence from the Manor this summer. He was full of the joys of spring. On and on he went about what an honour it was to be working as a Prefect for Snape, how I would do my house proud after all. How I was expected to 'uphold the family traditions'. Nothing about the elf. Nothing about anything, really. Except it was clear…he knows something. And he isn't telling me."

No one said anything. Neville moved some food around his plate, and Hermione kept studying his face.

"Hermione, I swear to Merlin, if you ask me if I'm okay…"

"Wasn't going to. I was just thinking. Draco. I'm going to ask a question that may make you angry. But, I think maybe you have to…do you think that if you asked questions, your father would answer them? In the post?"

Draco jolted a little bit. What Hermione was talking about sounded awfully like-

"You want me to be a spy."

"No. Nothing that dangerous. But…I mean…your father. He just wants you on his side, right?"

Draco sighed. She was right, of course. He would likely push some information in his favour, with some subtle questions.

"Yeah, alright. I have to be careful, though."

"What? No," Neville said. "Hermione, stop. That is a terrible idea! You really think you can fool Lucius Malfoy? You've met him!"

"Neville-" Hermione started.

"No. Stupid. You are being stupid. Especially with Umbridge-"

"Okay, seriously. What's wrong with that woman?" Draco asked.

Just then, however, the bell rang. Neville looked up apologetically.

"Can't stay. Gotta get all the way to the tower. Just you wait. You'll see."

As he hurried off, Draco realized that Neville had given no information about why he'd been late. He stored that information away, to be used for anger at a later time.

* * *

The week went on, and by Thursday, Draco was aware of two things. First, fifth year meant business. His schedule was crazy, and the homework had increased tenfold. Apparently, O.W.L.s were nothing to sneeze at.

And secondly?

"That woman is a horror!" He said, slamming himself down at the Gryffindor table at lunchtime. Not even the sight of fish and chips and mushy peas could calm him down. He crossed his arms and glared into middle distance, noting in his peripheral vision that Neville was, once again, suspiciously absent.

"I am going to assume, my friends, that Draco has experienced the brilliance that is Defence Against the Dark Arts," Hermione said lightly. "With the wondrous Professor Dolores Umbridge."

"She wants us to learn defensive spells without actually _doing_ defensive spells?!"

"She wants us to learn defensive spells without doing _anything_ , at all," Hermione grumbled angrily. "Honestly. The stupidity. Course, that's not even the worst of it, is it?"

"No," Draco said, dropping his head in dismay. "The worst part is that it means the Ministry is involved in Hogwarts now."

Ron muttered a tone of disbelief, and Harry looked back and forth between Hermione and Draco.

"Do you ever get the feeling that they are actually the same person?" Harry said to Ron.

"No, but I do sometimes feel like maybe we are both quite stupid," Ron replied.

"What?" Draco said, looking up again.

"Never mind," Hermione rolled her eyes. "Ignore them. What are we going to do about Umbridge?"

"Hermione, there's nothing we can do," Harry said miserably. "Half the school already believes I'm crazy. Let's just not…rock the boat. Not this year. Okay?"

"Well, okay."

"What if we did something in secret? With no boat rocking? No waves, at all," Draco said.

For a moment, they all just looked at him. He was gaining quite the track record this year, silencing them. Silencing many Gryffindors at once was a difficult task. He should get a medal. He just waited, this time. If nothing else, Granger would catch on.

"Draco," Hermione said, smiling slowly. "You evil genius, you."

"Wait, what?" Ron said.

"Never mind, Ronald. We'll tell you when you need to know."

"As usual," Ron grumbled angrily.

"Oh relax, Weasley. It's going to be fun."

"Shh," Hermione warned, eyes darting upwards.

A tiny clicking heel was striding purposefully through the hall. A heel attached, rather irritatingly, to a very pink, very fluffy, witch.

" _Master_ Malfoy," Umbridge simpered, her candy sweet tone belying how the interaction was going to go. Draco was very good at reading people. It hadn't taken very long to work out the impossibility of this woman.

"Professor?" Draco replied, equally sweetly. Equally falsely. His friends winced.

"Forgive me, but I was under the _impression_ that you were a member of the Slytherin House."

"Yes, Professor? I am?"

"And yet, I find you _here_ , dining at the table under the Gryffindor banner."

"Er, well Professor," Ron said cautiously, obviously trying to use his 'I'm a responsible Prefect tone' to help Draco. "We don't always eat at house tables at lunch, what with everyone having different schedules and the like?"

"Forgive me, Mr…"

"Weasley, Professor."

"Ah, yes. Well, Mr. Weasley, forgive me. So silly of me. But I was led to believe that there was a rule that students did, in _fact_ , eat at their house tables, at all times?"

"Technically, yes-"

"And? Mr. Malfoy?"

"Um.…"

"Indeed."

Draco looked at the others, completely torn. Lunch was the most time he saw them during the week. It was when he caught up, when he managed to feel less disjointed from them. When the Slytherins didn't care if he sat with the others, and nobody razzed him for the Gryffindor connection. If he lost that, this year was going to get much more ridiculous. But what could he do? Clearly, this tiny, stupid witch was waiting to be obeyed. Was it really worth crossing her, this early in the year? Especially if what he and Hermione suspected was true?

As Umbridge cleared her throat once more, Draco sighed, took one last bite of food, and made an irrevocable decision. He got up to leave the Great Hall. It seemed easier. He felt a tiny surge of relief when he realized that all three of his friends were following him. It was ridiculous. It had been four years, and he still felt a little bit joyful every time someone _chose_ to be friends with him.

 _Get a grip, Malfoy,_ he chastised himself.

Quite predictably, Ron was the most outwardly angry about the situation. He was always the most outwardly angry, about every situation.

"Of all the ridiculous rules to enforce-"

"Ron, relax. Really, you should all go finish eating. It's not a big deal."

"Like hell it isn't!" Ron shouted. "What is she trying to do? Bring back stupid house allegiance? Honestly. Discouraging inter-house friendship. Because _that_ has always worked out so well."

"Draco, we'll just get sandwiches and eat on the grounds. It's not a big deal," Hermione reasoned calmly.

"And when it gets cold, we can find an empty classroom," Harry added, catching on.

"Guys, it's really not a big deal," Draco tried limply.

"Exactly. So it's not a big deal if we eat outside the Great Hall either."

"Is no one else thinking what I'm thinking, though?" Ron said quietly.

"Yes, Ronald. I'm pretty sure we all got there."

"This Umbridge thing is not going to be good, is it?"

"I highly doubt it," said Draco miserably.

"Well," said Harry. "Reckon it's time we work out a plan, then, isn't it?"

He led the way to the lawns, and by the time lunch was over, they had worked out a complicated system of notes and meeting times, and Hermione was on the task of creating a better communication system. More importantly, they had the beginning of an idea. The start of a plan. A plan to defend themselves from the evil that now felt closer than it ever had before.

* * *

There were no two ways about it. Fifth year was hard, and Draco was not handling it well. He was actually a pretty good student, so the fact that he was drowning in homework and failing essays came as a bit of surprise. Unfortunately, he was distracted. It wasn't the first time, but this time, the stakes felt high. First, there was Umbridge and her ridiculous inspections.

On top of that, there were the letters from Lucius. He and Harry had been writing them together before dinner each afternoon. The tone that Draco had adopted was of appropriately simpering son; he hadn't spoken to his father this way since he was eleven, and he kept waiting for Lucius to catch on. Instead, the letters came back full of vitriol towards those his father deemed 'unworthy' of Hogwarts education, and unfortunately, also revealed quite a lot about what was happening at the Manor. He had names of compatriots who were now staying in Wiltshire, names he hadn't heard since he was very young. Carrow. Gibbon. Dolohov. Mulciber. His very limited memories of these people gave him the shivers, and he couldn't really explain anything to Harry, despite desperately trying. How do you convey, however, the way people can cause you general discomfort? Cause a chill to enter a room? Speak in tones about people the way most people spoke of rodents? All he could adequately explain was that they were 'bad news'.

Moreover, there were the instructions. The goal of which seemed to be to cause the most unnecessary unpleasantness as he could. Lucius went on and on about making sure he used his 'power' to 'influence first years' into 'the proper allegiances'. The worst part was that Hermione, through a look of complete distaste, told him he would have to do as he was being told. She wasn't wrong. He had no idea who Lucius' spies were anymore. He couldn't risk not acting as he was expected to. So, he took points harshly. He favoured the Slytherins, letting them get away with far more than he should. He abused the first-years' fear of Pansy, and soon, had garnered as much fear around himself. But it wasn't natural. It didn't feel good, and he was exhausted.

Lastly, there was the mystery of Neville. For most of the first month of school, Neville Longbottom remained absent. He would appear for the ends of meals, mutter noises of assent at the frustrations of fifth year, but then disappeared again before anyone could question him. Apparently, at least according to Harry, Neville wasn't ever to be found in the common room either. Draco still found Luna and sat with her in the library, but she had no more information than any of them. She also wasn't as helpful without Neville. After all, she didn't have O.W.L.s to worry over, and she could only be so sympathetic. Draco was annoyed, and distracted.

So, the week that Umbridge declared herself high inquisitor, Draco had received a dressing down from McGonagall about his most recent Transfiguration essay, annoyed his Screechsnap to the point of nuclear level screaming in Herbology, and for the first time ever, had screwed up a potion, creating a Draught of Peace that more resembled black swamp sludge. He was in a terrible mood when he arrived in the entryway for dinner, not looking forward to listening to Blaise and Pansy go on. The small crowd clustered around, staring up, almost didn't register, until he noticed Neville standing on the edge of the crowd. Neville, in the castle at the start of a meal, got his attention.

"Nev," he said, standing beside him. "What's going on?"

"Look," Neville said miserably, handing him the Prophet in his hands.

Draco looked at the article, and felt his mouth fall open.

"Well," he finally said, lightly. "That can't be good."

"I think not. Draco," Neville started, looking at him carefully. But he didn't continue. "I er, I have to go."

"Neville, what the hell is going on with you?" Draco shouted after him.

But Neville just shrugged.

"I'll see you in Hogsmeade tomorrow!" he called back.

Draco shook his head, and went into dinner.

* * *

Sure enough, the next day, Neville met them in the front before the walk into Hogsmeade, acting as though nothing strange was going on. He jovially participated in a conversation with Luna about Bowtruckles. Hermione was equally excited, though she was trying to hide it as best she could.

But, by the end of their meeting in the Hog's Head, Hermione was excited despite herself. There was a tiny glimmer of something like hope that crept into her features. She had even managed to corner Draco that morning to tell him about the parchment charm, suffused with pride when he exclaimed in excitement and hugged her tightly. It felt like a piece of their friendship, which was broken for a reason she hadn't been able to place, fell back into place. That night, she only knit three hats before she felt like she could fall asleep, actually made it to her bed instead of passing out in the common room. She felt…weirdly better.

Which is why, she felt no surprise, at all, whatsoever, when she came down to the common room and found a notice about educational decree number twenty-four. Based on the shouts and cries of dismay all around her, she was the only one who wasn't.

"All student organisations, societies, teams, groups and clubs are henceforth disbanded?"

"But Quidditch!"

"Never mind Quidditch! What about Gobstones!?"

"A regular meeting of three or more students! Seriously! What, we can't even eat lunch together now? That's a regular meeting!"

Hermione found Neville standing beside the notice board, looking resigned. She studied him in the moment before he noticed her. He looked tired, but good. Not as haunted as Harry, not as drawn as Ron, and certainly not as tormented as Draco. He just looked sort of, well, purposeful.

"Well," he said. "This got a bit harder, didn't it?"

"What? Neville-"

"Oh please. Like we are going to give up because of Umbridge! Hermione. Hilarious," Neville said, shaking his head. "Come on. We better go find Draco. He's probably freaking out."

Sure enough, when Neville and Hermione got down to breakfast, they found Draco standing outside the Great Hall, pacing. Hermione took a sharp breath. Malfoy angry, even all these years later, could be a little terrifying; he began to look a little too much like his father, all sharp lines and pinched features.

"Draco," Neville called, waving him over. But, before Draco could even get a word of his usual rage out, Neville held up a hand. "Yes, yes, we know, it's annoying, the lovely lady is the worst, blah blah blah. You want to see what I've been doing for the past month. Seems like a good day for it, no?"

He looked at Hermione, who was standing a bit gobsmacked, and she simply nodded.

"Good. You two can see first. I'll get the others later… I was going to show everyone next week anyway. Do you have gloves? It's freezing and we're going outside.

Draco and Hermione followed Neville down to the greenhouses, and he led them to the tiny, seventh greenhouse, the one at the back that hardly anyone went into. He led them round the back, and through the tiny door.

And Draco and Hermione both gasped in unison.

"Neville…" Draco whispered in hushed reverent tones.

"They're beautiful," Hermione whispered beside him.

Something about the ethereal plants they had just seen required silence, respect. And beautiful they were. Pale white to the point of glittering silvery light, they stood about four feet high. Only half a dozen or so in total, but huge. They each splayed out two feet on each side, with spiraled leaf-like tendrils snaking in every direction from a thick and twisted stem. Upon closer inspection, the stems were made up of hundreds of tiny threads, woven together in intricate patterns. Like a spider webs. Like the tree of life made flesh. Draco inhaled as he approached and realized that the plants smelled delicious. Like warm cookies and Christmas, like first snow and new hope.

"Aren't they," Neville whispered back. "Gran and I found the seeds in Armenia, and they have to be planted within a week of harvesting. They need a lot of attention after that. I didn't mean to keep them a secret, but they were just so much work, and then classes on top..."

"What are they?" Hermione asked.

"Bavarian Singing Rowan. Super rare. They're just babies, and in winter hibernation right now. But the magical properties! Guys, if I get these to mature, they could…"

But he stopped.

"Sorry, I'm being all plant weird again. "

And he was. But Draco didn't want him to stop. In fact, he wanted to know everything about these weird looking plants if it meant that Neville kept talking, saying more words at once to them than he had all year so far. Especially in that excited, little boy on Christmas voice. And the desire to hear about plants took him by surprise.

As he gestured for Neville to keep going, though, Hermione was watching. Watching as she had been all year. And a great sadness swept through her. Just like always, Hermione was noticing. She was, after all, highly logical and very observant. So, just like always, she was noticing the thing that would take her boys ages longer to realise. She sighed a deep sigh, and listened to Neville instead.

Suddenly, she realised that for all her logic, she hadn't really been thinking about the real problem at hand.

"Neville, why are you so sure that this new 'Educational Decree' isn't a big deal?"

"Dunno. Just am."

"But Nev," Draco said. "Where are we going to find space for 30 people to meet secretly, without Umbridge finding out?"

"Or are you suggesting we meet in groups of 3 so she can't stop us," Hermione added sarcastically.

"Well, I don't know…but it's Hogwarts! It has all the secrets. We just need to find someone who knows enough about it to tell us the right one, right?"

They wandered a few more moments through the twists of the Rowans. Suddenly, Draco froze. And then laughed, and clapped Neville on the shoulder. And grabbed Hermione by the shoulders.

"Hermione," Draco said, shaking his head. "Oh Hermione….think!"

She looked at him, puzzled.

"Who knows this school better than anyone else? Who knows the secrets and the places that the school likes to hide?"

"Draco, I don't-"

"Hey, er, Dobby?" Draco called into the middle distance of the greenhouse. An ear splitting crack filled the air, and a small but grinning elf stood before them.

"Master Draco, sir! You is calling for Dobby?"

"Er, yeah. Thanks for…coming?"

"Anything Master Draco needs! Dobby is owing Master Draco for his freedom. Such a gracious and-"

"Um, yeah, thanks. Dobby, I just…I had a question. Or a favour. Or maybe both."

"Oh Dobby is answering any question that Master Draco might have."

"We need...a place. Where we can practice Defence Against the Dark Arts without anyone finding out…"

Dobby grinned.

"Dobby knows the perfect place, sir!" he said happily. "Dobby heard tell of it from the other house-elves when he came to Hogwarts, sir. It is known by us as the Come and Go Room, sir, or else as the Room of Requirement!"

* * *

3\. _Winter_

The next few weeks were insane. Between the start of the DA meetings and creating the communication coins, and Ron failing miserably in his first game, Hermione should have had enough to worry about. Draco having Quidditch-related fights with the other Slytherins. Harry, Fred, and George losing Quidditch privileges. Hagrid's disturbing story about giants. The ridiculous tasks of being a Prefect in December. Hermione should have had enough to distract herself from her very obvious frustration with her own emotions. Yet, distracted she was. She even managed to get back a 'P' on a transfiguration essay, accompanied by a worried glance from McGonagall, and wasn't even that upset.

Luckily, they were no longer allowed to have meals together. This meant that she hadn't really had to spend that much time facing Neville and Draco at the same time. It was easier to act natural and normal as a result. The real problem, of course, was that she had no one to talk to about any of this, about what she suspected. About why it mattered at all if what she suspected was true. After all, they were her friends. She should be happy.

But happy she was not.

It hardly seemed real that she was going to have to go skiing with her parents, and talk about mundane things like teeth and snow and Muggle government, and pretend that everything was fine. After all, she could hardly tell her parents that the Ministry was now involved at school, and that as a result of a despotic teacher, she had spearheaded the organization of a secret army? No, that would definitely not work out well. They were already largely in the dark about the events of the year before. It had been the only way she'd been allowed to go back to Hogwarts.

The night before holidays started, she tried to be empathetic to Harry's terrible kiss with Cho. She tried to tamp down her frustration with Ron, and with the general din of jolly holiday festivities, but eventually she just went to bed. When she woke the next morning, she was running extremely late. She had meant to say goodbye to the boys in the morning, but if she was going to make the train, she'd just have to leave their gifts by the fire and hope they found them. She grabbed her bag and ran down the staircase. And almost straight into Draco.

"Oh, sorry! Hi! Are you taking the train?"

"Nope, going to Hogsmeade to floo," Draco said miserably. Of course, she figured she'd likely be quite miserable too, if she had to go to the Manor for Christmas.

"Last second change of mind? My parents said I could bring whoever!" Hermione tried, attempting to keep her face chipper and neutral.

"It's just safer not to fight it, 'Mione. I'll be fine. He thinks I'm toeing the party line now, remember. Harry and Ron not taking the train with you?"

"Nope, flooing too. I didn't see them, actually. They weren't up, and I'm late."

"Glad I caught you, then!" Draco said, smiling for the first time that morning. He flourished a little box from behind his back and handed it to her. "Happy Christmas!"

"Happy Christmas, Draco," she replied, blushing against her will as she pulled her own box out of her duffle.

"You'd better go."

"Er, yup."

Draco reached forward as if to hug her, which was not unusual. But Hermione flinched slightly, and he seemed to blanch. Instead, they ended up in a weird, half-embrace that Hermione decided to ignore as she called goodbye and ran down to the entrance hall. She also decided not to think about anything on the train, or on the platform, or on the tube back with her parents.

Time always felt weird outside of Hogwarts, and the two days between arriving home and Christmas Day passed slowly. Hermione felt sick, put off and confused. Even more so when she opened her present from Draco and found an everlasting self-inking quill. Lovely, expensive. But still, just a quill. Quite against her will, her stomach flopped uncomfortably, and she chastised herself for being such a silly-teenage-girl in this moment. Still, even dismissing this emotion, she felt like…something was off.

When Tonks arrived at her parents front door minutes before they were meant to leave for the slopes- with her hair a sensible brown so she didn't frighten the Muggles- she felt instantly relieved despite the dreadful news Tonks brought. Despite her parents worry, and her change of holiday plans. She felt better, because it was good to know that, despite her silly 'feelings', she could still trust her Gryffindor instincts.

* * *

3\. _Spring_

The winter that year had decided to hold onto Scotland with vicious teeth. There was still feet of snow and bitter wind come March, and the disaster that was Valentine's day hadn't really had time to wash away in a change of seasons. Moreover, _The Prophet_ had decided to make winter a little gloomier. Somewhere in the midst of cabin fever, the decision to put an article in _The Quibbler_ had seemed like a good idea to all of them. After all, Harry's life could hardly get worse, right?

"I suppose we should have predicted that the article wasn't going to go over very well, huh?" Neville said to Luna and Draco gloomily.

They were sitting amongst the Rowans, which had just turned bright orange and were now giving off a scent that was hard to place- either it was strongly related to fresh parchment and apples, or else it smelled like that start of a new school year, and Draco refused to say either of those things out loud.

Luna sighed loudly. She had been making an effort since getting back at Christmas to spend time with them, but Draco suspected that she was getting a bit of crap for it from those in her own house. There was still so much animosity over Harry, and she didn't have the benefit of being Prefect, or a part of the Golden Trio. The DA should have been helping, but since that was such a complete secret, the drain and wear were apparent in her face instead.

It had been a hard few months. Coming back from Christmas, it had taken Draco two weeks to even know what to say to Ron or Harry. He'd hidden most of the time, running between classes and the dormitory, avoiding them as much as possible. It wasn't until Hermione had cornered him, demanding he tell them what was wrong, that he realised they were just worried because of his Christmas with Lucius. But, surprisingly, that had been weirdly fine. No strange people in their family Christmas dinner, and they'd gone to France for New Year's, no incidents during either.

Now, it was the first of April, and there was nothing to be done for the fact that they still had to write O.W.L.s, or the fact that Harry was still being angry and distant most of the time, occasionally because of Cho and occasionally because of some mysterious lessons he had to run off too. Ron's dad had thrown them all, but none more than Hermione, who was angry at having not heard until she could not help. Harry was mad about that too.

Nothing could quite repair these things, and it seemed that the Article was not to be the answer. Nor was the fact that Draco was soon to be a member of the Inquisitorial Squad.

"Draco," Luna said lightly, ignoring Neville's comment. "Are we sure that you have to actually be on the squad? Surely if we just told your father-"

"Too dangerous. He knows too many people."

"Yeah, well, I don't like it," Neville said angrily, slamming his book and leaping up and fussing with a tree branch for a moment.

"Neville, it's-"

"If you finish that sentence with 'fine', I will hex you. Merlin's beard, Draco. It's not 'fine'."

Draco smirked a little before replying, "At least we know you _could_ hex me now."

"Oh, shut it!"

"Think that was a compliment, Nev. You have gotten quite good, haven't you?" Luna said.

Neville tried to hold back a smile, which was pretty adora-

 _Nope. No. Put it away,_ Draco thought, shaking his head.

Unfortunately, Draco had realised, as he lie awake not sleeping, that the chastising his subconscious had stopped working of late. And he was starting to get very squirrely as a result.

Something had to be done. That night, if he could manage it. Quietly, without even moving from underneath his Rowan tree, he wrote a tiny note that he tucked inside his potions book. He needed a solution, and he would make Harry help him this time. Just once, this year, Harry could help him.

-xXxXxXxXxXxXxX-

"Draco," Harry hissed beneath the cloak. "Draco? Draco Malfoy, I swear if you have gotten me out of bed again, only to not show up _again_ , I will- Argh!"

Harry felt a hand reach out and grasp what he was sure looked like empty space. But Draco was very used to sneaking around in the darkness, searching for the edge of the cloak, or trainers beneath it more correctly, when he met Harry and the others late at night. It was easier for him to come up from the dungeons than for the three of them to navigate down. They had learned that the hard way.

"Would you shut up, Harry," Draco hissed now. "Christ, is your plan alert Umbridge!"

Harry was dragged unceremoniously by the jumper into the nearest empty classroom, where he pulled off the cloak and glared at Draco.

"You know, I wouldn't have to be worried about that if you would just talk to me during the daylight like a normal person! None of this notes in cauldrons, sneaky meeting business. Just, Harry, my good friend, a chat, if you will? So easy."

"I couldn't. This isn't…Great Hall conversation."

"Yes, I gathered from your…shall we say, missive…' _Midnight. Just you. TELL NO ONE. NOT EVEN RON_.' Very unsubtle, considering it's from you."

"Yeah, well, I'm freaking out."

That was not something Harry needed to be told. Draco was currently wearing mismatched pajamas (the horror), slippers on the wrong feet, worrying his hair out of place, and pacing. Draco Malfoy pacing was always a bad sign.

"You don't say," Harry said dryly, borrowing his friend's tone and expression. Hanging out with Slytherins was good only for one's sarcasm. Well, and one's propensity to refer to oneself as one.

"Harry, don't joke. I have a serious problem."

"Okay.…"

Draco paused his pacing a looked like he was about to say something before he started pacing again.

"Okay, well…let's see," Harry said, getting slightly worried now. "Is it a serious problem in terms of, say, Voldemort? Or are we talking more…Umbridge levels. Or maybe just disappearing Dumbledore? I'm going to need a scale, here Draco, before I start guessing. It's just a little too much left to the imagination at the mom-"

"I think I like Neville," Draco blurted.

Harry stared after him a moment, sighed and dropped his head, laughed lightly. "So, somewhere between me being off the Quidditch team, and the second floor bathroom being out of order again?."

"Harry, don't. Don't joke. How can you be joking at a time like this."

"What? A 'time like this'? Draco! I _know_ you like Neville! Hermione _knows_ you like Neville! I'm pretty sure that soon, Ron may even clue in. Hell, Neville is going to figure it out, soon. And just to remind you, 'this' is a school year being overrun by a terror of a teacher, Ron's dad was nearly killed over Christmas, you are playing double agent within a corrupt ministry, and I am having nightmares that may or may not be visions of a crazed killer! You 'liking' Neville is not a 'serious problem'."

"Yes, it is!"

"Why?!"

"Well...because it means…It means I'm…"

"What? Into pale, inept boys who've suddenly turned into strong, capable men? Lusting after one of your best friends? Why, yes, likely all of the above. So? I think you're making a bigger deal of this than it is. Get over yourself."

"But that's...I don't even! Harry, how can I be…I'm just supposed to…"

"Yes. You are just supposed to deal. You don't have to tell your father, not now. Not ever, if you choose. And you tell Neville if you bloody well feel like it. I'm certainly not going to do it for you. You'd call me a 'Hufflepuff girl' for the rest of my natural life. Merlin, Draco! I thought there was actually something wrong. I'm going back to bed."

Draco stood there for a moment, fish mouthed and sputtering. Harry took pity on him and softened his tone. This was his best friend, after all, and this year, it had been hard to be a good one. He only knew part of what was going on with Draco, bits and pieces of what it was like being on the other side of the Umbridge regime. He tried again, nicer this time, stepping forward to stand beside Draco.

"Draco, it's perfectly fine to have decided you like someone. We're fifteen. It'd be a bit weird if you didn't have a crush. I mean, Ron and Hermione…well. And, I mean, you're not exactly unaware of what I… And this really isn't that big a deal; think about it. You could have developed 'feelings' for McGonagall…or worse, Filch."

Draco shuddered a bit, and then a small smile played at his mouth.

"For what it's worth, Neville's a pretty solid crush. He's a good bloke, and we all treat him like…well, not always great, you know that. It's kind of nice to know that you er, appreciate him. Are you going to tell him?"

Draco shook his head vehemently, muttering something along the lines of 'as if I want to be disowned from my family and House at the same time'. Harry nodded.

"That's fine. It's just a crush. It really doesn't matter. Come on, I'll walk with you halfway so you have the cloak for a bit."

Their now tall frames didn't quite fit under the cloak and they had to shuffle slowly to make it worth their time. It took a while to get back to the second floor, where they would split up. In that time, Harry felt Draco's body stop shaking, and his breath return to normal.

"Hey Harry? Thanks. I knew you'd…be the right person to...Don't…"

"I'm not going to tell Ron, Draco. You're my friend. I'm not that cruel. Night," Harry said, reaching out to pull the cloak off Draco's head.

"Wait, Harry. What's that?" Draco hissed, holding onto Harry's wrist to pause his hand.

"Nothing," he replied quickly.

"Bullocks, what happened to your hand?! I can't believe I didn't notice…"

"Seriously, it's fine. It's just…Detention with Umbridge, but it was ages ago," Harry murmured quietly, looking down.

Draco glanced around, and then pulled Harry into the corner. The last thing that they needed was for Filch to find them standing in the corridor, half invisible.

"What?" he whispered harshly. "What did she do?"

"Just leave it, Draco. It's not that big a deal. We can't draw attention to anything right now. You'll risk the DA."

"The fucking DA," Draco sighed. "As if that's all that matters."

"It does matter! Shut up, you arse! It matters. We have to be ready."

"I know. Sorry. It's just…Whatever. Look, at least we can match now. Battle scars."

Draco lifted his pajama top and showed off a multi-coloured bruise that stretched the length of his entire abdomen.

"Draco," Harry hissed.

"It's fine. Just Umbridge, right? She really is a bitch," Draco said bitterly.

Harry laughed darkly, "What the fuck have we gotten ourselves into, D?"

"Life, Harry. Just life."

Harry nodded, scrubbing his hair with his non-bandaged hand. Draco looked away, slid down against the wall behind him. It was the understatement of the year to say that this was 'just' anything. He thought of that day on the train. Had those children known what they were headed into? Not really, he knew they didn't. They'd been too concerned about family names and chocolate frogs. Eleven wasn't that long ago, but standing here now in the dark corridor, it might as well have been decades.

"Is your dad still sending you letters?" Harry said, sliding down beside him.

"Yup. Everyday. Chalk full of intel. Idiot. Hasn't even realised that his own son isn't exactly a vault. I'll leave them in the usual spot."

"You still safe?"

"Yeah. I'm so bored though. I miss playing Quidditch against you. At least it was a fair fight this year."

"Woah! Where is the official record? That was halfway to a compliment. You coming to the meeting tomorrow?"

"Can't. I'm on Inquisitorial patrol for the first time. Should be...interesting. Hey! I got a wisp of a Patronus last night, though! Hermione and I were practising in the Prefect bathroom."

"Nice! Told you. Just keep working on it. You okay now? I really gotta go to bed, Draco. I'm exhausted."

"Nightmares still bad?"

"If that's what we are calling them."

"It'd be lovely if you could _ask_ someone who knew what the hell is happening. Like, gee, I dunno, _Dumbledore_."

"I, er…I'm dealing with it. I have…help."

"Oh?"

"Snape. Long story, can't talk about it. Sounds very much like a theme this year."

"Relax. You'll get wrinkles from that bitterness, drama queen."

"Yeah, yeah. You're one to talk. Stay safe. Don't let Crabbe and Goyle get to you."

"I'm trying, but they are so dumb. Like, so. Dumb."

Harry laughed, "I know. Reckon you could beat 'em up and make them think that it was an honour to be beat by a Malfoy?"

"Nah. Bigger picture and all that. Don't want to draw attention."

"Hey, seriously though. Neville, not a big deal. Don't worry more than is strictly necessary this year, Draco. There's enough going on for you to worry about."

"I'm trying. Force of habit. Slytherin."

"Right. Well, night."

"Night."

* * *

4\. _Beginning of the End_

The end of that year came fast. Draco felt ancient. If anyone had tried to tell him that he was only 15, he'd probably have punched them in the face. There was no way that this was what 15 felt like. He was tired all the time. He figured he'd at least get a bit more sleep now that the O.W.L.s were over. At least, he would if the frigging 'Inquisitorial Squad' would let him- it was getting increasingly difficult to seem eager and willing to take points from people and rough them up. The patrols were endless, and he was exhausted from trying to throw them off the scent of the DA all the time. Pansy was getting suspicious, and Umbridge would notice if he wasn't careful. Dumbledore needed to be back, needed to be in charge. He was grateful the year was almost through. He would almost take being back at the Manor over this. Almost.

Lucius' letters had stopped. They'd worried about it for about five minutes, but in the middle of the tests, it seemed inconsequential. When Fred and George had spectacularly left the scene, they had forgotten completely. Especially when Harry's nightmares were getting worse, when they started to include people whose faces he recognised, who he could describe to Draco and place. There was a chance that something was happening.

The department of mysteries had been such a disaster. He'd lost track of the DA before they'd even left the school, because he'd been on duty that night, and no where near Harry when he'd felt Sirius in his scar. He knew the coin was warm in his pocket, but surrounded as he was by Umbridge cronies, there was little he could do. By the time he'd found out that the five of them had already left school grounds, it was too late to join them, and he was stuck pretending to be angry and scheming in the kitten filled office. He'd done his best to go find a way to help, settling on only calling the Order of the Phoenix using the portraits. It had felt like nothing, and he had thrown up twice while they were away, pacing and nearly hysterical. All his people. All five of them, gone without him, gone without his ability to do anything to protect them. And he knew, _knew_ that Lucius would be there. Would they still trust him when they returned? Who knew what they would see? Until they returned, Draco didn't even know where they had gone.

But the news they came back with, the wounds, the warnings. They were almost worse than the waiting.

Sirius.

Voldemort.

Fudge admitting everything.

Neville in danger. I mean, they'd all been in danger, but…

And the grief. As they all sat in the hospital wing after, the others kept looking to Draco to fix Harry. He, after all, was the problem solver. The one who made people realise they were being stupid and needed to be corrected. He tugged people out of bad moods.

But this wasn't that. This was despair. And there was nothing anyone could actually do. He urged them to stop trying. When Harry got back from meeting with Dumbledore, he seemed simultaneously better and incredibly worse. He was dejected, but he also seemed scared. A scared Harry Potter was a disturbing thing, and Draco chose not to point it out to the others. They all floated around for the next little while, hours spent sitting around, not talking, waiting out healing that may not ever come.

The weather was incongruously perfect the entire last week of school, and Draco was trying to avoid the sunshine. It felt brash, and wrong. Suddenly, it was the last day. He was packing up, dreading what was to come, and the dungeon seemed very stuffy. He leapt at the chance to take the note from Blaise when he climbed into the dungeon proffering it.

The note was simple, but the information within contained way too many emotions, ones he could not process, not right now.

_Draco,_

_He needs you. Clock tower. You can thank me later._

_Hermione_

He read it already leaving the dungeon. He paused and read it twice more before continuing. Then he started climbing. He climbed all the stairs, one foot in front of the other, not really knowing what he was getting himself into. He had no idea why he was here. He hated the clock tower, because he hated heights, and it was so exposed. But when he turned the corner, he understood. There was Neville. Curled into a ball on the floor, crying, nearly hysterical.

-xXxXXxxXxXxXxX-

Luna was the first one to find her, likely because she had accidently fled to the Charms classroom to avoid teachers, as she cried stupidly. But Charms classrooms were not places to avoid Luna, who regularly helped Professor Flitwick with some task or another. She, quite typically, had not said anything when she had stumbled on a crying Hermione Granger. Instead, she sat down on the desktop beside the table Hermione was at, and patted her shoulder gently.

"Hard, isn't it, when we have to let go of things? It must be hard, trying to take care of all those boys without any help."

"Yeah, sometimes," Hermione admitted, calming only a little at the contact.

"Does he know?" Luna whispered.

Hermione's head shot up to meet Luna's eye.

"Luna, what are you-"

"Oh, it's okay. I won't tell him. Draco Malfoy hardly needs more things to worry about."

"Have I been obvious?"

"No, but..."

"He doesn't know. And he isn't going to. It's not important. I think…I think they need each other more."

"It's important, it's just hard to change."

"Yes."

"Will you be okay?"

"Yes, I think so. I'm glad it's summer. Luna…are you okay? Did anyone ask you?"

"Oh, I'm fine. Neville and I talked. It was a bit frightening, and of course, I'm very sad about Sirius. But…we knew, didn't we? Being in the DA? It's probably for the best that we were all there together."

"Yes, I suppose. Draco wasn't there."

"He was where he needed to be. Can you imagine, if the Death Eaters had seen him? I tried to tell him that too."

Hermione nodded and they fell silent again.

"I'm very frightened, Luna," Hermione said suddenly, the information almost surprising her.

"Well, of course you are. You were attacked by Death Eaters and we are now fighting a war. How stupid would it be not to be afraid? Oh how I love you Gryffindors…Always confusing courage with audacity."

Hermione smiled, and stood to hug Luna.

"This summer…"

"It's not going to be like any other summer, no. But we must carry on."

-xXxXXxxXxXxXxX-

Draco tried to move quietly to Neville's side, even though every part of him wanted to rush to his side and bundle him into his arms.

"Nev?" he said gently, touching his friend on the arm.

"Oh, Draco…H-hi. Sorry. I'm just…oh God…"

"Nev, you're alright. It's fine to cry. Just…take your time."

Draco sat down beside Neville on the floor, holding his shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting way, and waited as Neville gasped for air. Large, ugly tears, and barely any sound accompanied the crying. It was exactly the type of crying that everyone needed once in a while, especially in times like these. But it was also the type of crying that you generally hoped no one else would see. Draco knew to just sit quietly, and to wait, but he desperately wondered why Hermione had thought that he needed to be here for this. Didn't the reality of them being in the tower mean that Neville had been trying to find a place to be alone? Still, he sat. He comforted. He waited.

"This is so ridiculous. I'm a bad person."

"What?" Draco said, genuinely shocked. "No you-"

"Draco, I'm not crying about the attack. Not about Sirius. She-ah…no Neville, pull it together. Draco, she destroyed them. Every single one. With fire. I couldn't even save…None of the seeds..."

And he dissolved again. Draco didn't know what to say. His brain cast around looking for answers. She. And fire. And seeds. And then it clicked.

"No," he whispered.

Neville just nodded.

"But..why? When? Dumbledore is…well, he's back and she's…"

"Appears she had time before...everything. To destroy my Rowans. It was probably before we even left, but I didn't know. I realise this is stupid. I'm sorry. I'm upset over completely the wrong thing."

"That isn't true, Nev. You can be upset over that. It's dreadful."

Draco took a few inches back to himself to study Neville. He always seemed entirely too aware of what was happening around him. Since first year, since he had always figured every problem out.

"Are you okay?"

"What? I wasn't even there, Neville."

"That's what I mean."

Neville was looking at him sidelong, carefully watching for his reactions, looking nervous and scared. The situation was weird and stupid, and suddenly, Draco realised the awful truth.

"So, I guess you know, then, yes?" he whispered, turning away and dropping his arm back into his lap.

"Well, not all Gryffindors are clueless," Neville said, still a little teary and wobbly. "And Luna may have said something."

Draco didn't laugh at the weak joke. He was too busy trying to return his heart to a normal rhythm, one conducive to staying alive and pumping blood through his body.

"I thought you should know, before we leave. That I know, I mean," Neville said. "Now that the papers are talking about it…well, it's a proper war now, isn't it? And I just thought you should know that I know. That I've thought about it. And Draco?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm just not really sure," Neville was whispering now. "Is that stupid? I'm just…scared. And part of me just wants to stay here. For a while longer, you know? Just…here, you and me in the tower, talking…another part of me doesn't want that at all, but-"

"Neville, it's fine. I get it."

"No, Draco. I really don't think you do."

Draco felt Neville move beside him, felt him close the gap that he'd just put between them, felt him place a tentative hand on his arm. But he didn't see Neville, not really, until his face was in front of Draco's, and he was placing a soft, hesitant kiss on his lips. One that Draco only returned in the same fuzzy softness, quiet, unrushed, chaste and almost meaningless. Except, of course, that it meant everything. Draco was reviewing Neville's words, suddenly understanding exactly what he'd meant by 'stay right here'. The kiss was not one of romance, but of confused emotions, of teenage crush, of desperate fear. It was tantalizingly short, but perfect, comforting, and right.

That done, Neville uttered a slight, resigned sigh, and moved back, resting his head on Draco's shoulder, still just the tiniest bit upset. Draco was frozen, every muscle in his body refusing to move, every joint stuck in the moment between _Then_ and _Now._

They sat this way, neither moving nor talking, until they heard the clock above them loudly strike the end of their last normal year.

The summer had arrived. That word had never meant less, and there was no going back once they moved. So, until there was a chance they'd miss the train, Neville Longbottom chose to sit, frozen in time, at the side of his very best friend.


	6. Sixth Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:Warning; Sixth year was dramatic and full of angst. This chapter is too. It's also mostly from Draco's perspective. It should be pretty obvious why once you start reading, but it does mean that the details that were Harry's in this story are gone (think much less Slughorn memory, Aragog, etc.). That story was already written pretty beautifully by JK herself, in her infinite wisdom. This is Draco's side of the crap that was his 6th year. Erm...enjoy?

July, the first unanswered letter:

_Draco Malfoy_  
_Malfoy Manor, Westbury  
_ _Wiltshire_

_Dear Draco,_

_I told you I'd write- you didn't believe me, huh? Well, this me writing a letter. Don't think I've ever done that before, have I?_

_Summer sucks, so far. Mum keeps flying off the handle, going on and on about how unsafe Hogwarts has become, that we shouldn't go back. Course, it's all a little ridiculous, isn't it? I'm sure Dad'll sort her out._

_Are you going to be able to come to the Burrow the last week of August? Nothing exciting, just last feast at home with all of us. Charlie'll be home for a bit. Then Diagon- you should see the joke shop, mate! It's turned into a riot. Way better than Zonko's (but if you ever tell Fred and George I said that, I'll deny it, then I'll punch you.)_

_Send Pig back if you can come, even if just for a few days. It'd be good to have you, and I'm sure you'd…well, you know. Actually, write back either way so I can convince Hermione that I did actually write._

_Hope you're good!  
_

_-Ron_

* * *

Late July, the second unanswered letter:

_Draco Malfoy_  
_Malfoy Manor, Westbury  
_ _Wiltshire_

_Dear Draco,_

_Can you believe it's almost August? The first month of the summer seems to just fly by; I'm at the Burrow now for Harry's birthday. I hope that it has been okay on your end. I can practically smell the Jasmin of the East Gardens when I think about it; the Manor is so lovely in the summer, and I hope you get the chance to spend some time outside._

_I've had a letter from one of our other friends, clearing some stuff up- he seemed concerned that I wasn't okay. We can talk about all of it when we are back at school, since it's hardly Earth shattering news, but I just figured you might need me to tell you that I understand. That you and I are still friends._

_Ron swears he wrote to you, which, I hope is true. If it is, I assume we'll see you here in a few weeks. There is talk of a longer trip into Diagon. I don't know how smart that is, but, you know what the boys are like. Course you do. You're one of them, aren't you now? I'm sending you some of my mum's honey cake. Mostly so she'll stop pestering me about sending my friends something. But with you and your sweets, you will probably enjoy it._

_Miss you, D. Send someone just a quick note, hey? They're worried. We're worried._

_Love from,  
Hermione_

* * *

One week before the start of term, the final unanswered letter;

_Draco Malfoy_  
_Malfoy Manor, Westbury  
_ _Wiltshire_

_Draco,_

_Send a quick note to Hermione would you? Just a quick one. I'm sure that this summer has been very…busy. But she's worried, and you know what a worried Granger looks like._

_See you soon?_

_-Nev_

* * *

1\. **Isolation**

Draco had orchestrated their arrival time carefully. He had made them _almost_ late. He figured that was the best way to stay safe, stay hidden. He couldn't believe that his mother had still insisted on him taking the train, claiming that it was tradition, and necessary for appearances. He felt that this was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard. Still, here they were, standing silently as they watched the platform from afar. He wasn't looking at Narcissa, and clearly that was starting to unsettle her.

"You are clear, Draco. On your-"

"Yes, Mother. There were….assurances made. To be positive that I understood. We really needn't elaborate."

His forearm burned slightly at the memory.

"Is that going to be an issue all year?" Draco said, glancing down at his arm.

"Possibly. But you can ignore it, he knows why."

"Oh yes, because _he_ is the epitome of reasoned thought.'

"Draco," his mother hissed, and he softened slightly.

"Sorry."

"You know who to trust, yes? Who you can ask for help?"

Draco nodded.

"Why am I going back at all?"

"Draco-"

"I know. I know, mother. That was a stupid question. Don't worry. You can….you can count on me."

Narcissa took his hand in hers, kissed the side of his head, and whispered so that only he could hear, "I wish we didn't have to. Stay safe, Draco."

The train whistle blew it's warning shot, and he hurried forward with his trunk behind him. His head was pounding, and he kept his eyes level to the floor as he wandered to the back of the train. He glared at Pansy and Daphne as he sat on the other side of their compartment, and they simply shook their heads and asked him nothing, which had been his goal. He hunkered down into his seat and pretended to sleep.

* * *

"Hey guys, Draco wasn't at the Prefect meeting," Hermione said, rather breathlessly from having trotted down the corridor in a panic.

"What?" Harry said carefully. They were all pretty worried about Malfoy. They'd been talking about the unanswered letters all morning, and they'd just assumed that Draco would be at the Prefect meeting and Hermione and Ron could surreptitiously grill him as they went on patrol. The news that he wasn't there was worrying.

"Neither was Pansy. They'd just replaced them with the fifth year Slytherins, and no one is talking about it."

"Well, we'd better go look for him, right?" Harry said, standing up. But Neville's hand was on his arm.

"I'll go."

"It's fine, we'll come with you."

"No, Harry. Think about it. If all five of us go traipsing through the train, it's going to look pretty suspicious. If he's here, why isn't he sitting with us? This is Draco we are talking about, Harry. He has a reason."

Harry looked frustrated, but he sat back down.

"Okay, I guess so. But make sure you give him hell if you find him, for worrying us."

Neville nodded and stood up. Hermione gripped his hand reassuringly as he walked past her, and he smiled at her sadly. He wasn't sure how she knew why he was worried, but she did, and for now, that was all he needed.

He began walking down the train, looking two cars ahead of where he was. He saw people he hadn't seen all summer; he waved at Hannah, smiled at Dean and Ginny, but he didn't stop. He was looking so far ahead that he saw Draco well before Draco saw him; had he not already been planning to keep walking past wherever he found the Blond, he might have gasped at the change before him. Draco was drawn and gaunt, skinnier than Neville had ever seen him. He was pretending to be asleep, but Neville saw his eyes shift subtly, knew he had been seen, and he kept walking. He breathed in deeply, carefully. He didn't know what had happened to Draco over the summer, but clearly it hadn't been good. He braced himself as he walked into the cool air of the caboose, leaning on the rail as the train chugged merrily along. And he waited.

"You always did love it back here," a rough voice said behind him.

Neville turned, and forced himself to smile, even though the overwhelming impulse was to gasp again. Draco really looked awful. In the light, the dark circles took over half his face, and he was pasty and frail looking, which for September, was so unlike him that it was shocking. Sure, he was always fair, but he spent so much time on the grounds when at the Manor that his skin was usually luminescent, his hair sun-warmed. Now, he looked as though he was coming out of months of being locked in a dungeon. Neville almost physically shuddered when he realised that it was a distinct possibility that was true.

"Draco," he said, snapping out of his observation and rushing forward to bundle Draco into a relieved hug. "We had _no_ news, Malfoy! Freaked us all out."

Draco didn't answer, just leaned into Neville's embrace, tightening his arms, turning his head into his neck.

"Sorry," he whispered, withdrawing. "Missed you."

"You too," Neville said, turning back toward the back of the train. Draco leaned next to him, connecting their arms in silent, steady comfort. "Suppose there's no point in asking you how your summer was, hm?"

"What do you mean?"

"You look like shit."

Draco gave a bitter laugh, "Thanks, Nev."

"Well, I mean, fuck, Draco…you disappear into the _Manor_ all summer, send us _no_ news, whatsoever, not even the fake stuff you sent last year. Then you turn up here, don't come find us, and look like _that_. Are you….no, I'm not even going to ask. You are clearly not okay."

"Neville Longbottom, swearing. What would your gran say. Look, I know…this year. It isn't going to be the same. It's…things are dangerous. I can't afford to…"

"Be friends with us?"

Draco looked sharply at Neville's profile. He sighed, "Maybe. I'm not sure yet. Things are very complicated."

"Can I help?"

"Absolutely not. You cannot get involved. Neville," Draco said carefully, pulling on Neville's shoulder until he looked at him. "Can you promise me that, actually? Don't get involved. I know that's going to be hard, but can you promise me. Just…stay away from me this year. It's better for everyone if-"

"Draco, what? What are you on about? What's wrong? We can help you. It's what we do! We help each other."

"Neville," Draco was almost begging now. "You can't help. This isn't…it's not Lucius. Which is sort of ironic, actually. If you had told me that things would get _worse_ once my father was locked in Azkaban..."

"You can't say more, can you?"

"No."

Neville searched Draco's face for a moment. There was anger and frustration, and a firm sneer on his face. There was Pureblood pride and Slytherin logic pasted all over his features. But that was Draco's mask, and Neville knew how to look past it. What he found underneath the mask was fear. Real, unadulterated, unbridled fear. Whatever Draco was trying to protect him from, it was dangerous, and it was scary. Considering the little he knew of what was going on at the Malfoy's private residence, he knew that if Draco was afraid, he had good reason. And if what Draco needed was for Neville to promise to leave him alone, he could pretend to do just that, until he had a better plan. Neville nodded, and Draco looked slightly relieved. He carefully reached across the distance, and pulled Neville closer. He kissed him, soft presses of lips, hands threaded in hair, hitching of breath when Neville kissed him back and their mouths both opened unexpectedly, and the kiss slid into something neither of them had ever experienced. Draco sighed deeply but pulled himself back.

"Sorry," he muttered, still wrapped up in Neville's embrace. "I realise we didn't talk about this…but, I've been thinking about that all summer. I didn't mean to actually do it, though."

"I'm not complaining. But I am a bit confused."

"Not surprising, considering I ask you to stay away and then snogged you mercilessly," Draco said, stepping back and scrubbing his hair out of his face in slightly embarrassed frustration. It looked much more like him, and Neville almost sighed in relief at the familiarity of Draco Malfoy straightening non-existent issues with his hair.

"Look, maybe a truce? I know, Draco, that things are hard. What if we just, I don't know, compartmentalise?"

"What?" Draco said, throwing him a completely unimpressed eyebrow.

"I mean, you keep your secrets. God knows we all need to. But you also need friends. We can keep hiding you. We got pretty good at that last year, with Umbridge."

"Neville, no….Last year. It was nothing like…Umbridge was a kitten. Have you talked to Ron at all yet? Do you know that the Ministry searched our house? They were trying to find evidence against my father, since for now, they are keeping him under suspicion, but mostly they just took stuff."

"They saw you in Diagon-"

"I thought I might have seen the cloak, but it seemed pretty unlikely. Still, I don't know what they think they know. I'm sure Harry is trying to…save me, right? Just like you will, if I let you stay near me."

"Do you need saving?"

Draco laughed a bizarre and bitter laugh. It wasn't a sound Neville had ever heard from him before.

"Neville. Have you not realised? We all do."

Neville grimaced. This statement was likely true, given his experience at the Ministry. He was already having nightmares, not that he would ever tell anyone how much Bellatrix's voice echoed through his mind at night. They were definitely at war, and there was no arguing that the Malfoy's may not be on the right side. The problem was that this was _Draco;_ the friend, the ally. This Draco, _their_ Draco, _his_ Draco hadn't been simply defined as a Malfoy for years. September's were always hard. The Gryffindors had to do some needling, especially in the last few years, to get Draco to remember that the lies he had always had to swallow didn't have to be true. It was this reality that forced him forward now. He still felt like he needed to throw Draco a life raft. Fix the worry that was etched into every pore, fix everything if he could. He could, if Draco would let him try. He was sure he could fix the fixer. He took a deep breath.

"Just let me try?" Neville whispered.

"Try to what?"

"You don't have to tell me things. I won't make you spend time with the others. But I'm going to worry either way, so if you just let me…see you. Sometimes. Luna too, maybe? Please, D."

Draco crumpled. He sat down against the rail as the train gently swayed down the tracks. He felt suddenly very unbalanced, despite the smoothness of the ancient steam engine. Neville took a moment to just look out at the passing countryside. He let Draco take his space. Finally, after a few minutes, Draco sighed in the way that he knew was 'defeat'.

"You have to understand, before I agree," he said, looking up at Neville carefully. "I meant what I said. This is no longer child's play. This isn't the letters from last year. It's not the Inquisitorial squad. I have…things I have to do, and I don't have a choice. I've tried to find a way around it, but there isn't one. It's why I'm not a prefect anymore. I can't tell you about it either, not ever."

"Okay..." Neville said carefully.

"And it's probably not safe for me to spend time around Harry. He's just going to have to figure things out himself. We both know he can," Draco said warily, looking around him as though he was expecting to see someone listening. "Neville, you should go back. But, okay...tell Harry this when he asks; Cloak. Slytherin compartment. I'll try and find a way for him to sneak in."

"What? Draco…I don't understand."

"Well," Draco said angrily, scrambling back up and shaking his head. "You'll have to work on that, won't you."

He grabbed Neville's hand, pulled him close, kissed him hard, then walked away, back through the door, back into his compartment. Neville shook his head.

"Well, that can't be good," Neville muttered as he went back inside his compartment, where only Luna was now waiting. "You should see him, Lu. He looks like death warmed over."

"Well," Luna said, not looking up from her copy of the Quibbler. "We aren't really surprised, are we? Okay, well, maybe you are. But, Neville. He lives with Death Eaters. He just needs his friends back. We go through this every year. I'm sure it's worse this year, but still."

"Maybe, but-"

Luna held out a piece of parchment, and he paused mid-sentence.

"This came while you were out. Harry got one too. Professor Slug-something…new teacher. He's having a lunch, you were invited. You are only a few minutes late."

"I…why me?"

"No idea, but you should go."

When he got to the appointed car, he was silently happy that the seat beside Harry was mysteriously free, and outwardly apologetic for his lateness, even if he was completely confused

"Ah! Mr. Longbottom. We've been wondering where you were," the new professor said.

He listened for a few more minutes, making non-committal noises to answer his questions. When Slughorn's attention finally swerved to Blaise Zabini, he turned to Harry and muttered, "Found him. Not great. Says take the cloak to his compartment after this. Don't know why."

"He okay?"

"Don't think so, but I don't know what's wrong."

"Okay. Thanks, Nev."

Neville smiled sadly, and Harry nodded. There weren't really any necessary words.

They both sat and chatted mindlessly for the next little while. When Harry walked away from Neville, Neville just muttered 'careful'. Which neither needed to be told. Entering the sixth year Slytherin compartment was not a great plan in the present climate, but for whatever reason, Malfoy thought it was, and he trusted Draco enough to follow. He stayed close to Zabini, and smirked when Draco's eyes travelled behind his housemate, watching as the door got stuck on Harry. Harry, for his part, had a similarly silent reaction to the changed Malfoy. There was no denying that his Slytherin mate was not doing well. Comically, his head was in Pansy's lap, which made Harry want to laugh out loud. He knew how Draco felt about the girl, and watching her pet his hair was hilarious. Draco had to be uncomfortable, but he was trying to seem calm and nonchalant. Course, as Harry lurched himself into the luggage rack, the laugh died in his throat and Draco's eyes went wide. He was pretty sure that only Draco saw his trainer in the commotion, but he couldn't be sure. Settled and not moving or breathing too loudly, the compartment went back to normal, and Pansy resumed her stroking of Draco's hair. Only because Harry knew him well did he see the slight wince in his face every time she touched his head.

His disbelief and anger grew exponentially as he listened, but he managed to stay quiet as they approached the castle and began to slow. He stayed where he was until he heard Draco say, "You go on. I just want to check something." Then, he swung the cloak off his head and jumped down.

"Shh! You can yell at me in a moment. She's still in the corridor."

Harry tamped down his angry shout and whispered in frustration instead, "Draco! You can't be serious! You're leaving school to help _him_?"

"Harry, listen to me very closely. I don't know what you are talking about," Draco's eyes were wide, as though he was trying to convey something to Harry. "Whatever you heard, I don't care about it. None of it was anything you didn't already know, right? And really, you know more than Neville."

Harry's brain spun in overdrive. These were the moments he wished he was Hermione, when he knew he was not picking up Malfoy code, when he knew she would understand the 'read between the lines' commands on his face. Draco looked pointedly at his scar, and that was all it took. Everything clicked into place and he nodded slowly. Whatever was going on with Draco, he couldn't say anything more out loud. For whatever reason, Harry instinctively knew he was right.

"You should really learn not to listen where you shouldn't," Draco said, still using that 'this is important' tone. Harry understood. Draco was warning him that he wasn't sure who was listening to them. Or how.

He whispered, "Just do it, D. It's safer."

"Maybe," he said softly, before raising his voice again, "I will have to teach you that lesson myself. _Petrificus Totalus!"_

Harry felt the familiar stiffening of his joints, felt himself fall to the floor of the corridor. He felt very strange, almost resigned to his fate.

"Harry, I'm sorry….I have to…" Draco whispered anxiously, right before he punched Harry in the face. Pain spread through his nose, blood trickled coldly down his face. Draco winced and Harry felt anger flare in his frozen body. Surely, that much physical proof hadn't been necessary. But Draco felt differently, if his now bleeding nose was any indication. He looked apologetically down at Harry and murmured, "Tonks is on the platform. I'll tell her you're here."

He took a step back and threw the cloak over him. Then, louder, into the wider space, he said, "I don't reckon they'll find you until the train is back in London. Enjoy the ride."

Harry heard Draco leave, and moments later, heard Tonks appear. She fixed his nose, and asked who'd done it. He tried to let the rancour in his voice dissipate as the pain left him. He didn't understand _why_ Draco had felt the need to hit him, but against all odds, he did feel like he needed to trust him, and that was going to involve keeping him out of trouble.

"Draco Malfoy. It's a long story. Thanks Tonks."

She reluctantly let him leave, and he didn't pause to question why exactly she was here at all. He was too distracted by trying to solve what was now a puzzle as he wandered into the Great Hall covered in blood. He was still confused, and now he was pretty angry, and even if they were friends, he now felt like he was going to be very careful around Malfoy. When he muttered the same name to his friends, they stared at him in open mouthed shock. Neville couldn't even form words as he tried to process, and Hermione's hand flew to her mouth.

"He WHAT?" Ron nearly shouted.

"Later," Harry hissed.

If nothing else, Harry Potter was sure that they were going to have a hell of a time talking Draco Malfoy out of whatever mess he'd gotten himself into this time. He sighed out loud. As though he'd needed any more things to worry about this year.

* * *

The first few weeks of school probably appeared uneventful to the casual observer, but there was a distinct unease that had spread through the student body that was hard to ignore. No one really trusted anyone, and since half the students parents had tried to keep them home, there was a great unrest that started with the first years and extended all the way up to the N.E.W.T. students.

In the sixth year classrooms, far too many things had changed at once for anything to remain the same. Tje news of Fudge accepting the return of Voldemort had unsettled so many people that they'd all had a change of heart. Suddenly, everyone was on Harry's side. Yet, there was an unspoken rule, especially in the Slytherin dorms, that no one talked about the war, about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. At least out loud, no one was discussing what side they were on, and talks of blood status were hushed and fervent. It was hard to stay friends with large groups of people when you had no idea who you could trust.

Instead, everyone just drifted apart. They split themselves into factions, and they could be divided even within their own houses. The large groups of students that would normally have clumped together between classes, whole year groups hanging out together, they disappeared. Hogwarts was suddenly a school of small clusters who didn't idly chat that often in corridors. Suddenly everyone was worried about appearing to be scheming.

Draco noticed, but since he had put himself into voluntary isolation, even from his own housemates, the change hardly mattered to him.

Correctly anticipating Harry trying to corner him, Draco had become incredibly sneaky, lurking in corners around the school, talking to as few people as he could. He saw Neville, but only once a week. Mostly, so that Neville wouldn't worry. They would chat about nothing in their old hiding spot beneath the Quidditch stands, occasionally taking weird physical comfort from each other, but never defining what exactly they were doing. In return, he told Neville random updates about what he could tell, and never anything that he couldn't. He told him about the shift in the attitude in his common room. He told him about the way that Snape had suddenly decided all Slytherins were suspicious, and wasn't being as generous as he was used to. He told Neville false beginnings and exaggerations, and he knew that Neville _knew_ that was happening, but he mercifully never questioned the lies.

In return, however, Neville handed Draco nothing, too; he gave no news about the Order, no information about the possible continuation of the DA. Draco knew he had to be more observant, and so he watched even more closely than he ever had before. He saw the changes in Hermione, he watched Ron become more and more afraid for his family, he saw Luna distance herself yet again.

This all was to say that he had become virtually a stalker of his friends, which was fitting, seeing as he was at least halfway sure that Harry was doing the same of him; it wasn't surprising really, since Harry hated not having the answers, and also had the frigging map. There was nothing else for it but to be more careful. There were moments where he was too tempted to check-in with them, when the added worry of his Gryffindors made him careless.

For instance, Draco sat in the stands while Harry held Quidditch tryouts. The September sun felt bright and unpleasant, and he purposely sat far back from Hermione, settling in only once he saw that she was sitting down, focused on the pitch, on Ron, so that she didn't move to come sit with him. He tried his best to follow what was going on, but he was distracted, because distracted and exhausted were now his normal state of mind.

By the end of the afternoon, however, he was suffused with pride as he watched the leader version of Harry Potter take charge. Sure, there were a few false starts, a couple of arguments- he was trying to corral a bunch of Gryffindors, after all- but then Draco watched as the person who Harry had become surfaced. The DA leader. The person who was not going to allow others to walk all over him, but could do it without the bullying that Draco had once favoured. Without the shouting his father always tried. Harry Potter was just pure power, pure expectation. He was hope embodied, and Draco tried to both feel this emotion, and block it out. It didn't help him to know that Harry _could_ possibly win this battle; it didn't help, and this was just Quidditch, he told the tiny flame of hope that hit his core.

He was there when Hermione _Confunded_ Mclaggen, and he desperately wanted to rush down and clap her on the back at the hilarious appropriateness of the very Slytherin-like action. From what little he had seen, the large, wire-haired boy was an arse who deserved it. Not to mention that Ron would be insufferable if he didn't make the team. The common room would be-

Draco stopped his own train of thought. He would have no idea what their common room would be like, whether Ron made the team or not, because he couldn't go anywhere near the Gryffindor common room, not this year. He couldn't risk who or what may or may not be in his head. And he refused to put Harry in more danger than he was already putting him, than he was already putting everyone just by being back at school this year. He had tried his best to think of a way to run away, to escape without anyone finding him, but he couldn't see that working, no matter what he did.

The squirm in his arm was now constant, and he was developing a tic as he tried not to constantly rub at it. He didn't sleep much these days, and that was part of the problem. He was surviving these weeks by not being near them, by not pretending that there wasn't a constant headache behind his eyes that stopped him from being able to even breathe some moments. There was always a running commentary of schemes and plans in his brain, and the mail he received each morning would have him immediately imprisoned were the rumours of the mail search true. Draco, however, knew that they were not actually searching the owls that closely. Parcels weren't making it through, but letters? Letters were easy. They barely required coding.

He silently got up and left the Quidditch pitch, suddenly feeling sullen again despite the brief reprieve that had ensued for a moment while watching his friends just being themselves. There was nothing he could do to fix his current state of mind, and he supposed that was just appropriate. Its not like his evil intentions deserved reprieve.

He went inside the castle, the gloomy light of the inner corridor better suiting his now splitting his headache. Making a quiet decision, he wandered to his now regular hiding spot; the first-floor girl's lavatory. All in all, Draco Malfoy was actually spending far more time in lavatories than was entirely appropriate for a Pureblood. He couldn't quite help it though, since they were large, and numerous, and often the emptiest of all places at Hogwarts.

Especially the first floor one, with Moaning Myrtle, who hated other girls enough that they hated her right back, and largely left her alone. He had decided, sometime in the first week of school, however, that she wasn't so bad. A little bit of flattery went a long way with her, and she was often content to just float by the sinks and watch him. And in fact, she was occasionally a tiny bit helpful for whinging at or bouncing ideas off of. He hadn't told her yet, not anything damning, but he suspected she didn't really care either way, which was interesting. He knew he could…not exactly _trust_ her, but he at least knew that unless someone asked her a specific question, she wasn't exactly going to give him up.

_Yet another stupid oversight by Dumbledore,_ he thought bitterly as he settled down onto the ground by the mirrors.

He wasn't sure if it was solely because he had been plotting murder for almost a month, or if it had something to do with listening endlessly to the Death Eater diatribes all summer, or if he was still angry at Dumbledore for his mysterious distancing from Harry last year. Regardless, he had grown _almost_ hateful of Dumbledore of late. He knew for sure that the strange old man was hiding something, and he was angry at him for caring so much about Harry that he had failed to notice the distinct changes going on in one of his best friends. He was angry that no one was trying to save him, which was hardly fair since he wasn't exactly asking for help. Still, for lack of another place to put the hate and the pain and the fear, Draco had decided to put all of it on Dumbledore.

He carefully pulled the letter from his father out, the signs of tampering from Azkaban still evident in the stamp on the back. The letter informed him- in carefully hidden, cryptic wording- that the necklace was securely hidden in the Three Broomsticks. Thinking about it made him, as usual, fall apart. He didn't have a plan. His father had made it clear that he was to use _any means necessary_ , and he assumed the urgency was the result of one particular guest staying at the Manor. He shuddered, thinking of his mother living in the middle of that. But was he actually going to do this? Was he actually considering murder, and of the headmaster, no less? A person that Harry loved, that he trusted endlessly, that he believed was the protector of all things? Not that Draco strictly agreed with him, most days. Draco was far more skeptical than Harry, as a rule. Harry had lived through his fair share of adventure, but Draco knew what true evil looked like first hand. He didn't mean to be, but Harry was classically Gryffindor- a little naïve and overly forgiving of most things. Dumbledore was a great wizard, of that he had no doubt. But that didn't mean that he alone could save them.

"It's not like he can actually protect anyone anymore, either," he said into the open room.

"Who can't, Draco Malfoy?" came the simpering voice of Myrtle, floating just above his head.

"Hi Myrtle. How are you today?"

"Better than you, it would seem. You look as though you could cry. You should, you know. I find it's very helpful."

"I'm just tired. Listen, do you want to help me solve a riddle? It's stumped me."

"I suppose, though I still want to know who you keep muttering on about."

"You _know_ I'm not going to tell you. Help me with this instead; a weak wizard has to get a very, very powerful wizard to take a cursed object. The wizard can't get into any of the other's private spaces, or belongings. He can't hand it to him directly, or else he is caught and will die. He can't leave it somewhere to be found by the wizard, or else someone else may die. It is a matter of life for one, and death for the other. Any ideas?"

Myrtle floated around a moment, and Draco held his breath. This was a risk. A stupid one, but he was getting desperate. The faster this all happened, the less time he had to spend at school, with his life in the balance, with his mother's life on the line. He needed out of limbo. It was going to destroy his mind. Better to get it over with and start the new life he was going to live, the one where he was forever a murderer and a Death Eater, friendless and trapped.

"Well, it's not a very riddle-y riddle, is it? Hmm...it's too bad ghosts can't hold objects. I could deliver it for you," Myrtle finally muttered.

"It's just a riddle, Myrtle."

"Yes, yes….still. Well, I suppose this _mysterious wizard_ could use a third party. A messenger of sorts. He'd likely have to _Imperius_ the messenger, but considering the goal of the exchange is death through a cursed object, I assume that this wizard is not overly concerned about using an Unforgivable."

"Well…" Draco said, thinking. It could work, technically, but how did he get to someone who would see Dumbledore? And how did he _Imperius_ someone without anyone noticing? Truthfully, he wasn't entirely sure he _could_ use an Unforgivable. They required malice, meaning. Was he really at that stage? He'd have to be truly behind his purpose. He felt his face fall impossibly further. He probably could be, if he focused hard enough.

"That's an idea, for sure. Sorry Myrtle, I have to go…so much homework, you know."

"Draco, remember what I said last time. You know, that there is always a way out? If I have learned anything, after all this time floating in here, it's that desperate times call for reasoned, calm action and help from friends. The 'desperate measures' part is the lie. You should just tell someone."

"Myrtle, I can't. We're all…it's very dangerous, this whole thing. It's for them. It's for their good. I know it doesn't seem like it, but this is me saving them."

* * *

2\. **Necklace**

"Draco. Was it you?" Hermione was leaning on the side of the wall in the dungeon.

He was exhausted, heading back from writing lines with McGonagall, and copying out a whole chapter of the Transfiguration text. He made a mental note that he was going to have to at least pretend to finish his homework, even if he got _T_ s in everything. Otherwise, one of the teachers would figure out what was going on before he had a chance to finish the job.

He really didn't have the energy for a Hermione inquisition at the moment, but her face was firmly set, in the achingly familiar way that told him he wasn't going to be given a choice. He wasn't sure he had talked to her alone, even once, all this year. That had been entirely intentional on his part; she was far too intuitive for it to be safe, and he wasn't interested in her working things out. Now, he tried to keep his face impassive and neutral as he muttered, "Hello to you too."

"Oh, just don't Draco. And because I know how you think, you should know it wasn't me. I'm not the one who put the pieces together. It was Harry. That's how clear it is that you had something to do with this. Thing is, though, Draco Malfoy, you didn't actually see her, did you? You didn't see her body get dragged into the air, her limbs weirdly contorted. You didn't see her scream, or her eyes go blank as she plummeted to the ground. So whatever the _bloody hell_ you've been up to, it needs to stop."

"Hermione-"

"No. Listen to me. You _know_ Katie- she has nothing to do with anything, so explain it to me, D. What are you being made to do? What did you have to do with it?"

"Hermione, I have no idea what you are on about. What happened, and to who? Katie? Katie Bell?"

"Yes, Draco. Katie Bell. She was cursed, and they don't know how. Except she was Imperiused."

"Oh...oh Circe. Is she…?"

"She was sent to Mungo's. No one will tell us anything else."

Draco was silent for a moment, his mind racing. Not only had Madame Rosmerta not given the package to someone who was going to be able to access Dumbledore, but now Katie was hurt, and he was not as innocent as he had been planning on being. He had chosen Madame Rosmerta because she was an adult, she was stronger. It had been hard enough using an Unforgivable, but he thought his motivation to keep the death of Dumbledore his only crime had been enough.

"Hermione, I was here all day. With McGonagall."

"I know. She told us."

"Then why-"

"Because you are up to something. And I know you, you're Draco, the epitome of a Slytherin. You're resourceful."

"Resourceful doesn't make me able to be in two places at once, Hermione."

"No," she muttered, pushing herself off the wall as if to go. "But that's not what I think happened. It's not too late, Draco. You could…I don't know, go to Dumbledore. Or Snape? Someone. Neville said we were supposed to leave you alone, but he's been blinded by…whatever is between you two. It's not fair to ask us to pretend things are fine when they so clearly are not."

Draco had to suppress a bitter laugh. Hermione, unknowingly, had named the two _least_ helpful people in Draco's life right now; his presumed victim, and the person who was to step in if he were to fail. Neither were going to be overly sympathetic to the current hardships in his life. His arm chose that moment to twitch and burn, causing him pain enough that he inhaled sharply. Hermione looked at him sidelong.

"Fine, don't tell me anything. I suppose I should be used to it by now. It seems to be how our friendship works, these days. Since when? Third year or so? I wish I knew, though, Draco. What it is I did, that made you stop trusting me? We used to be…you used to be able to practically read my thoughts."

Her voice stopped full force. He knew she was doing her best not to break down, not to cry. She hated crying more than anyone he had ever met.

"I can still read them, Hermione," He said softly. "And right now, I know you are worried, and angry, and you think you know what's going on. I hate to have to tell you that you don't. You don't know. And I love you for all of that, but it just _isn't_ something we can fix. Not right now."

Draco moved forward. He held his breath, hoping this partial truth would convince her of at least partial innocence, despite the fact that he had said nothing about _not_ harming Katie. He touched Hermione's arm, anticipating her flinching away. Instead, she seemed to collapse a little bit. Very unlike her, admitting to emotion, and it broke his heart even more than it was already breaking. He folded her into his arms and muttered into her hair.

"Do me a favour, Hermione. Keep taking care of them. I've…I'll be fine, but _they_ need you. Ron especially. I don't always think he applies rational thought before he charges forward."

"Almost never, actually," Hermione chuckled sadly into his shoulder.

"Exactly. So, that's all. Okay?"

"No. Not really. Will you at least promise me you're not going to get hurt doing whatever it is you are doing? "

"You know I can't."

She pulled back slightly to glare at him, before she whispered, "I know, but I don't have to like it."

Hermione pulled out of his grasp, and gripped his shoulder.

"Draco Malfoy, instead promise me that whatever else happens, you'll remember that we know you are actually very _good_. You have been given a shitty deal, and I understand that your choices may not be completely your own right now. You aren't giving us much choice but to trust you and hope for the best. But, no matter what else happens, you are _good_. Don't lose sight of that, okay?"

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and watched her walk down the hall. He was almost disappointed in her. He had been expecting Hermione Granger, most of all, to stop him. To tell someone that he was being shady. Without even trying, he somehow had convinced her to leave him to his destruction, and now he was pretty sure that no one was going to stop him.

* * *

3\. **Snow**

He spent the next few weeks wandering around miserably, more complete and visible misery than before. His failure with Katie was unacceptable; to know that she had almost died, and he had still failed, it was causing him physical pain. He threw up constantly, any time he thought about it, and his nightmares were redoubled, waking him in the middle of the night.

It wasn't that no one noticed, but he must have appeared terrifying, with his flitting, bloodshot eyes and pallor, because people were ignoring him more than usual, giving him a wide berth in the corridor and the common room. He may have felt powerless and inadequate, but apparently he was still fooling everyone, to his utter dismay.

Strange as Hogwarts was, things just carried on carried on being normal, even when nothing was okay and nothing was normal. Classes kept rolling forward, with tests and essays due. The Halloween feast was as big as ever, with multitudes of floating candles and ghosts trying harder than usual to shock the younger students. As All Saint's day dawned, the weather shifted almost overnight. The change from sleet and wind into full snow was almost instantaneous. The windows all frosted, and the cold water of the lake cast an almost blue-tinted frost into the Slytherin windows.

Normally, this was Draco's favourite time of year.

Snow at Hogwarts had always been his favourite. It was more magical than it was at home, where he wasn't allowed to play with it, or walk on the grass, where he had to protect his robes and the plants. When they had all been younger- when things had been less serious, less dire- the sudden appearance of a foot of snow in the courtyard on a Saturday morning would have been cause for near celebration.

On this particular Saturday, though, he woke from a very restless and chaotic sleep, his blankets strangling him, his limbs flailing, his head screaming in protest, and he sighed, rolling over planning to go back to sleep. Seeing the window through his curtain, he almost leapt out of bed. Because he could almost _smell_ the snow; the cold on the windows, the softened undulating light. He stood quickly, practiced steps informing his movements. He made a quick decision. He threw on his hat, his scarf, gloves. He would skip breakfast, he would go for a walk. He would calm his mind and rebalance his spirits. Snow, after all, was clean and bright. He needed clean and bright.

He bounded out of the common room door, ignoring the calls of Crabbe and Goyle, asking him to wait so they could all go to breakfast. He rolled his eyes as he let the door fall closed. He was already regretting using the two oafs as lookouts, but his choices of allies were numbered.

He walked quickly up the sloping dungeon corridor, ignorant of his surroundings. He was back inside his own head, again, thinking of all that he needed to get done this weekend, of the plans he had to put into action if he was going to succeed. As a result, he walked straight into Neville, who was bounding toward him like a giant puppy, fully kitted in outdoor wear as well. Draco was too far beyond being his old self, who would have teased him for his skipping gait. Instead, he just sputtered.

"What's wrong?!" Draco asked, alarmed. This was the first time this year that Neville had come to find Draco first, the first time he'd been in the Slytherin corridor for years.

"Wrong?" Neville asked, beaming and looking confused at the same time. "Draco, there's nothing wrong. There's SNOW! Tons of it! Come on, the others are already waiting. If we don't hurry, all the good spots will be destroyed!"

A million thoughts collided through his mind, all at once. Here was Neville, pretending things were fine, like it was second year, like they were still twelve and innocent and just friends. And yet, neither Neville nor Draco were that naïve. This was Neville, nonverbally pleading with him to just pretend, for a little while. The thing that was causing Draco confusion was that he suddenly knew he _could_ , he could just go along with them. But it felt like such a disastrous lie. It was so inadvisable, to laugh and play act. It was stupid to let them stay close to him, because they were in danger of being used as leverage. Or worse.

On the other hand, there was simple _want_. Impatient and stomping his feet as he waited for Draco to process, Neville held out a hand, grinning like a fool, knowing, _knowing_ that Draco was excited, in spite of everything. Finally, he made a choice. He reached out, and he took Neville's hand. He let himself be pulled close, be kissed softly, then be dragged at top speed up the stairs into the Entrance Hall, where a sea of gold-and-red scarves and hats greeted him with shouts. Ron barely waited until they had caught up before he was off at top speed.

"Come on, Draco! I can't believe you slept this long!" Ron called behind him, not pausing. "You're always first out here for Snow. If we don't get a move on, there'll be no spots left!"

Sure enough, the grounds were already filling with excited students. As they ran to make up for lost time, Draco felt the tightness in his chest lift slightly. Miraculously, no one had touched their spot yet; hidden slightly in the transfiguration courtyard, a prime spot for extra nighttime drifts, with a ledge on the wall that was perfect as shelter from the wind. They huddled into the space, pausing to look at each other, giggling, as though acknowledging without speaking that continuing this activity at 16 was absolutely ridiculous. Silently, Draco reached down, and threw the first snowball, clopping it right into the side of Ron's head in revenge for once again stating the bloody obvious and shouting at him earlier. The redhead just laughed. After all, Draco throwing the first snowball was tradition. He'd been expecting it.

They played like small children for nearly two hours. Hermione made a giant snowman, the Muggle way, only bringing magic into play when she transfigured a stick into a knobbly woolly cap. Ron and Draco kept up a long and drawn out sneak- attack snowball fight, where the volleys were sporadic and unpredictable. Harry had coloured the snow with brightly coloured spells, and kept writing obscene limericks in it. At some point, Luna showed up, and convinced Neville to make a Nargle home with her, before dropping down and making twenty different snow angels, trying to get one perfect one.

Before long, they were all breathless and soaking wet, with laughter that had no source pouring out of them all at random moments in time. Draco's face hurt from being trapped in the longest bout of happiness he'd been in in months, and then from the cold. He felt like a kid again.

"Okay," said Hermione finally. "I can't feel my toes. Hot cocoa?"

"I-"

"No excuses, Draco."

Draco closed his mouth. Hermione was looking at him hard, with a signature glare that could have frozen Lucifer himself in his tracks. He nodded slowly, and accepted her offered arm. They walked back up to the castle, all six of them, in a ludicrous and impossible to control line of linked arms, tripping and laughing on the icy grass, now largely destroyed with snow piled and trampled everywhere.

The Great Hall was crowded and loud, and hot cocoa appeared before them the instant they sat down. Hermione hit them all with random drying spells, and cast a warming charm around them all for a bit, at least until she and Luna stopped shivering. They didn't really talk, worn out and content as they were. Ron had pulled out a deck of cards, and he, Neville, and Harry were playing some ridiculous game George had taught him. The others watched, laughing every time something exploded or changed the colour of a player's hair. Draco startled only slightly when Hermione leaned balanced her back against his arm, legs crossed on the bench. She smiled up at him gently.

"We miss you, but it's okay. I know things are hard," she whispered. "I'm glad you came today. Snow would not have been the same without you."

Draco swallowed the lump in his throat and smiled down at her, wrapping an arm around her and squeezing gently. Luna watched them both closely, and Neville caught his eye and smiled the warmest smile he'd seen all year, typically knowingly. It felt so close to normal that Draco wanted to cry.

The November moments with his friends muted the pain slightly, even if just briefly. But as December dawned, he felt the growing panic hit him again full tilt. His time in the Room of Requirement was as fruitless as ever, but he was still hopeful that he wouldn't need to use the cabinets; they were a last resort, after all. He wasn't overly worried about them, but he did need to come up with a new plan, and now that he didn't have the necklace, it was more difficult. He wanted to consult Hermione, and the fact that the thought kept leaping into his brain made him laugh in a bizarre, slightly cracked kind of way. The Snow day had made him realise he had to try harder to act normal. He was trying to get more sleep, trying to eat, trying to go to class. He was trying to hide his true purpose with slightly more time in the common room and slightly more time with Neville.

The pretending might have even worked, if the letter hadn't arrived. Three days before the end of term, the morning before the Slughorn party he had heard more than he wanted to about, his father's grey spotted owl froze him in his spot at the breakfast table. He surreptitiously tucked the small, thin envelope into his bag. It was never safe these days to open mail in the Great Hall.

Back in the dorm before first lessons, he carefully read the short note, in his mother's careful hand, on the stupid 'Malfoy' letterhead, a thing he'd grown to hate;

_Draco,_

_You are to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas. There are pressing matters to attend to that keep us from the manor._

_Love,_

_Mother_

He wasn't sure how he was supposed to feel. Was he relieved, because he didn't have to go to the manor? Didn't have to spend time surrounded by death eaters, avoiding Aunt Bellatrix, and starving because he skipped as many meals as possible? Or was he disappointed, because it meant more time alone. More time with no one to talk to, more time with no way to avoid plotting and scheming, two activities which he would, at this point, quite happily never do again. There wasn't even room in his mind right now to contemplate what 'pressing matters' might mean.

That evening, with a handy chunk of students either in their dorms with the evening off, or at the party with Slughorn, Draco figured he'd spend some time scoping out pathways around the school. This was another task that had taken far longer than he'd wanted it to, another thing that would have been faster were he just able to ask his friends for help. The map would have helped immensely, but he could hardly go up to Harry and say, "hey mate, can I borrow your dad's map to help me plan the best route for Death Eaters to around? Hm? Which Death Eaters? Oh, the ones I'm going to let into the school soon".

So instead, he was wandering around, tracing routes himself, carefully making note of nosy portraits or prying teacher's offices.

That night, the corridors were mostly empty, and since he wasn't exactly doing anything that was against the rules, no one questioned him for a solid few hours. He probably would have been fine until he'd gone to bed, had he not accidently ended up in Slughorn's office corridor, which was buzzing with music and chatter. He stopped at the sound, leaning against a wall and basking in the pleasant warmth and noise, the joy of people who were having a pretty normal Christmas. He had no right to enjoy theses things, but the loveliness of it was a brief reprieve from his sorrow. He sighed, probably a little too loudly, and was disturbed by a vicious meow. He had no time to get away before a rough hand grabbed his ear, and he was suddenly being dragged away by a gleeful looking Filch.

"I wasn't doing _anything_ Filch…I…well, I was just going to go into the party, but I needed a moment!"

"Oh, _invited_ , were you. Well, we'll just see about that, shall we?"

Draco had realised his mistake the second he'd started speaking, but there was nothing he could do about it now. Slughorn looked surprised. To his horror, Draco noted that he was talking to Severus. As he followed his head of house into the corridor, he braced himself for the lecture, and was not disappointed.

He was, however, appalled at Severus' lack of tact. Shouting about the Unbreakable Vow in the corridor where anyone could hear them. Though, he supposed that Snape wasn't actually aware of the fact that Harry Potter was listening to their every word. Snape had not spent the better part of four years hunting for the swipe of robes, the glimpse of a trainer in darkened corners. But Draco knew, as soon as he'd seen Harry in the corner of Slughorn's party that he and Snape would not be alone when they left the room. The thought made him mad; how many times had he warned Harry to mind his own business, for his own bloody saftey?

He brushed off the Potions teacher as quickly as he could and then strode carefully down the hall until he felt like he'd lost him. Freezing in the middle of the corridor, he stood with arms crossed and waited for Harry to catch up a bit.

"Are you just carrying that around with you everywhere now, Hare?" he ground out, whispering loudly. "Bit paranoid, isn't it? Might as well come out. I know you're there, and the following me is dead annoying."

Harry conceded the point. He hurried to catch up with Draco's quickly retreating form, pulling off the cloak as he did. Draco was really too good at spotting the boundaries of the edges. It was bizarre and not just a little unsettling, seeing as it should have been impossible. Draco Malfoy was a little too observant.

"What the hell was all that about?" he said, trying to catch up to Draco's long steps. "Snape seemed ready to bite your head off, and you're standing there just screaming at him? That's not like you."

"Just leave it Harry. It's none of your business."

Harry was angry now, too.

"I bloody well know that! You've been saying that all year! I'm asking you to _let_ it be my business, stupid git! Seriously. What the fuck? What are you doing, D? We don't know how to help you right now!"

Draco laughed a bitter and slightly manic laugh, "Oh, you stupid noble Gryffy, how little you understand. You can't fucking _help_ me!"

It had been a very long time since Draco had shouted at Harry like that, like a Malfoy. And both of them seemed shocked by the turn of events. They stared at each other for a moment, a silent defiance on both of their faces, until Draco deflated slightly and continued.

"Just leave it, Harry, trust me. _Please_."

The last word from Draco's mouth was slightly frantic, looking at Harry with pleading in his eyes.

"Harry, look, I'm sorry. I know you don't understand. I know you're just trying to help, but look…I'm serious. Didn't Neville explain? You have to stop following me. It's safer for you, for Hermione and Ron. And you have to trust Dumbledore, and just do as he asks. Neville says you're meeting with him again? That's good. Just…please. You know I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important. I'm just trying to protect you…well, all of us really."

"Draco, how can you ask me that? You look like crap and you're worrying us all. Is it Lucius? We must be able to do something. Please. It's Christmas, so I know you must be stressed, having to go home and-"

"I'm not going home."

"Okay, so we'll stay with you. Or, I will at least. Mrs. Weasley will understand. You could even come to the Burrow, I'm positive! Come on, we'll go get Ron right now and see. Please, Draco. This isn't what we do. We talk, we help each other, even when it seems like there's no way to-"

"This isn't like that, Harry. Please, just. Go."

He didn't stick around to hear more from Harry, didn't seem to be able to bare anymore chat. Draco was now marching forward again, and Harry was at a loss. He had never heard Draco so very adamant. Usually, Harry was able to wheedle his way into making Draco doubt himself, even just a little bit, put a chink in his armour of self-preservation, and convince him to let them all in. Draco wasn't this person he was pretending to be; cold and distant, only looking out for himself. To say this was strange would be an understatement.

They had been trying, all year, to drag Draco back from the brink he appeared to be on. The Snow felt like a turning point, and Hermione most of all had seemed to believe that it was going to work. But Harry wasn't quite so optimistic. Aside from the Snow day, or sometimes at lessons, none of them had really seen Draco for more than fifteen minutes. Even Neville, who was confused and hurt most of the time now, especially when he came back to the common room having spent time with the Slytherin. They were all studiously trying to ignore the unspoken relationship between them, even though it was clearly causing Neville pain, because it seemed to be what he wanted.

Harry froze, now, and didn't follow his friend. He had never felt quite so useless. He saw the anger in those strangely icy eyes, and for the first time ever, the Malfoy glare had caused him fear.

* * *

4\. **Mead**

Christmas had been as bad as he'd expected, as unsuccessful. And lonely.

Even once the castle was once again full and bustling, Draco had spent most of January working on the new spell his father had sent him, hidden in the back of an envelope sent just after New Year's. He may have been making progress then, with the cabinet shaking and vibrating anytime he put something in it, but he was determined, still, not to have to use them. He wasn't sure what had happened to his second plan, the one involving a bottle of mead and a few drops of Weedosoros, pilfered from Snape's stores during double Potions. Rosmerta should have given it to someone, insisting it was the perfect gift for Dumbledore for Christmas. Either this trick had failed, or else Dumbledore had seen through it and not drunk the mead. Which left him rather at a loss. The less damage he continued to cause, the better, but he was quickly running out of options. Not that it would make much difference, eventually.

The dream began in February. He wasn't even really all that surprised. After all, here it was, the second half of the school year, and he still had not succeeded. The dream was simple, and therefore, even more effective in its horror. He would wake, not really awake, tied to a chair in a black room. A vast white snake curled around his neck, whispering. He knew it was technically speaking in Parseltongue, yet he understood every word, the chill in its voice vibrating its way into his very core.

_Your time is short, Young Malfoy. You must succeed, or I shall kill you. I shall kill your mother first, your father. I shall make you be a witness to the cost of failure. Do not fail me, young Slytherin. Soon. Soon. Soon._

He had the dream whenever he fell asleep, even if it was in class, even if just for an instant. He would wake in a cold chilly sweat, unable to catch his breath, terrified eyes flitting around, searching for the snake he could still feel lurking over his neck.

After the dreams started, there were no more good moments. He stopped going to classes reliably, for which he received much crap from Snape, as usual. He finds he cannot care. The weeks pass quickly and in an odd, muted light. He knows about the incident on Ron's birthday, realises he knows now where the mead had ended up, and he can't seem to process more guilt or pain or self-loathing, so instead, he doesn't visit Ron in the hospital wing.

He knows that all the early birthdays pass their apparition test, _including_ Ron, and although he congratulates him in the corridor, he can't quite meet his eyes these days, not after the accident. There are stories Neville gives him, about Ron and Lavender, about Ron and Hermione- a thing which does not surprise him, but which hurts more than he is willing to admit; clearly she had taken him at his word when he had asked her to 'care for' Ron.

He finds out about Harry and Ginny, and he is happy for him, at least as much as he can form the thought 'happy' these days. Considering Harry's track record, actually convincing Ginny to tell others she was dating him was a huge improvement. He wasn't surprised by that one either, which told him he'd been paying more attention through his distracted fog than he thought he had. He doesn't actually tell Harry that he is happy for him, or that he even knows. Telling him would require talking to him, which he cannot do. He is studiously and with much caution avoiding Harry Potter; the dream was a sign that his thoughts were not entirely his own. He would not risk it.

His is time was consumed by his last remaining option. The cabinets, the backup, the distraction and the causing of a 'big bang' as Lucius kept calling it, in his increasingly nonsensical letters. It was his last chance. So far, he had not been having much luck getting them to work, making it a pretty terrible last resort. All the spells he had tried had not worked. He put in apple after apple, never to have even one return unscathed. If an apple couldn't survive, then Draco was certain that a Death Eater would not. And while there was a certain poetry in that, he was doubtful that he would convince Aunt Bellatrix to get in to the untested cabinet sitting in Knockturn Alley. So he spent hour after hour, shifting complex magic that he did not have the energy to be performing, hoping he would get lucky.

* * *

5\. **Sectumsempra**

Meanwhile, the dream got more and more violent. The voice now followed him in his waking hours, haunting him when he went to class and cowered in the back. Turned his stomach the rare times he went down to eat. He was exhausted, gaunt, barely still surviving, and he was tired of the voice inside his head whispering, _soon soon soon_.

The day it happened, he was hiding once again in the bathroom. Myrtle- who was still his confidant for reasons he did not understand- was being entirely too sympathetic. He had screamed at her, and she had not gone away. He wanted to punch something, but Myrtle wouldn't feel it. He smashed a mirror instead. He didn't feel better. He was openly weeping. He screamed into the echoing space of the bathroom. It didn't help, because there was no more help coming, except the help he dreaded. He was out of time and he was entirely alone.

He needed Hermione to solve the problem. He needed Ron to charge ahead without a plan. He needed Harry to convince him that he wasn't as stupid as he thought he was, that he wasn't alone. He needed Neville to look at him and know that he was scared and broken, and without speaking, fix it. He needed all these things, but instead, he was standing here, with only a ghost for help and only his own, disgusting, frightening, unrecognizable reflection to provide him comfort. The truth hit him like a punch to the gut. He knew why he was finding his own face so terrifying.

For the first time ever, he _knew_ he looked like a Death Eater.

His eyes were bloodshot and sunken, his skin ashen and sagged. His hair had even taken up the cause, and hung limp and too long, untameable from lack of sleep. He had a feeling that it was easier, at this point, to just die. If he took himself out, then the Dark Lord would have no power over him anymore. Sure, his mother would be upset, but eventually, she'd get over it. And then Dumbledore could keep helping Harry, and together, they would stop a war.

When he whirled around at the opening of the door, his wand was already drawn, ready to conjure the _Fiendfyre_ that he knew would solve his problem. He barely paused to register the familiar face before him before _Crucio_ was on his lips. And then, all sensation stopped.

He knew people said they were in 'blinding pain' all the time. It was a common turn of phrase. Draco, though, was doubtful if very many people had actually ever experienced pain that ripped away your vision. Little white lights danced in front of his eyes, made it impossible to see the surrounding bathroom. He could feel the cold water seeping into his clothing, feel the molecules in his joints, in his blood, in his skin, dancing and protesting. The sensation was being registered as 'pain', but it wasn't like when he'd broken his arm, and it wasn't like when you tripped and fell down the stairs, and it wasn't like when you burned your hand, and it really wasn't any of the types of pain he'd experienced before. It was white, it was hot, it was burning and grasping and stretching. And suddenly, it wasn't there anymore. Suddenly _he_ wasn't there anymore. He knew deep down he'd probably passed out. Or died.

One or the other.

He was not really present yet when he felt Harry back away. The back corner of his mind had realised now that it was Harry who had been at the door. He felt the empty space keenly. He hadn't realised, until then that Harry had been kneeling at his side, possibly calling his name frantically. All at once, his skin was stitching itself back together. When he woke up, probably only a few seconds later, he was asleep standing up. He sees Snape, but can't understand why. He thinks he calls out to Harry, but there's no answer. He needs Hermione. He needs Nev. He can't understand what is happening, and he knows they would explain. He needs dry clothes and probably a comb. He tries to get up, but his legs crumple and suddenly, he's gone again.

The next time he wakes, he's in a bed. It's not his bed, and it takes him a moment to realise he's also in hospital pajamas, a moment until he makes the connection that he is alive and in the hospital wing. It's was silent but when he moved his leg, he shifted the heavy weight of Neville's head. He's asleep in his vigil, typically relaxed, though likely not overly comfortable. Draco jiggles his foot once more and Neville stirs.

"Hey," he says sleepily, opening his eyes but moving only to reach out and wrap a hand around Draco's blanket covered ankle.

"Hey. Is it late? "

"Yeah. I sent the others to bed. It was crowded. Didn't think you'd want them all."

Draco nodded. He felt like he hadn't spoken in decades, and he tried to clear his throat. He couldn't meet Neville's eye.

"Harry?" he rasped. He was going to elaborate, but Neville understood and shook his head.

"Well, I mean, he attacked you, so-"

"No!" his shout did not hold much volume, but it was vehement. He tried again, "Neville, no. It wasn't like that. Didn't he explain?"

"Yes, of course he did, Draco, but think how it looks, from the outside. Snape arrived to find you, bleeding and half dead on the floor, Harry kneeling there. It didn't look good."

"Yeah, but, I mean...I threw a _Cruciatus_ at him."

"I'm sorry- what?"

"I thought you said he'd told you."

"He said you two had had a fight, and that it got heated, and that he threw a spell he'd found in that fucking book. He failed to mention that you'd used an Unforgivable," Neville said, disturbingly quietly. He leapt up and was standing back from the bed as though he couldn't quite fathom touching Draco, possibly ever again.

Draco felt himself shrink, trying to get smaller and smaller. Trying to hide without hiding, like he did around Lucius.

"Yes, well…"

They remained in this silence for countless moments. Countless because Draco had no idea how time worked anymore.

Finally, Neville sighed, and sat back down, although this time, in a neat line far away from Draco. He was uncomfortable. It was painful to see. Draco had never been one to make him this Neville, the one who sat contained within himself so he didn't make a fool of himself. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely audible. It was a tone of voice that, in nearly six years of friendship, Draco had never heard.

"So, this is it, Draco. This is my uncrossable line. I will not stand here and pretend that everything is fine, not anymore. You are practically wasting away in front of us. You've refused to talk to Harry for weeks. You look as though you haven't slept in years. We can never find you, and when we do, you scurry away to some unknowable task. We- you can't pretend that you and I are still fine. And now, you've attacked your oldest friend. So either you start talking, and providing logical answers, or I walk. And I don't defend you anymore. I can't. It's starting to impact the rest of my life, and that isn't fair. Not when…Draco, I'm pretty sure you know how drastically things are changing. You have to have seen it."

"You think I don't know that, Neville?" Draco whispered.

He hadn't realised it until this very moment, as he tried to sit himself up fully to speak to Neville properly. But he was really quite weak. He slumped back down, and drew his arm out from the blankets. They had been tightly swaddled in Madame Pomphrey skill, and he was little alarmed at how cold he immediately felt. Still, in for a penny, he pulled his left sleeve up and waited for the recoil at the black and eerie tattoo that arm now bore. Funnily enough, it didn't come. Neville gaped, then sat forward, head drooped, arms on knees, and said nothing.

_"Draco_ ," he eventually hissed. " _When-"_

"It's a rather complicated story…" Draco started.

"Well, no. I imagine that it's not," he said, looking up at Draco, as if for the first time. "I suppose you were trying to protect your mother, and that you had a far worse summer than you let on. And that you couldn't safely tell us in a letter, which is why no one heard from you. And that your father forced you to take oaths with…with he-who-shall-not…no, with Voldemort. And that this somehow explains what you've been up to all year that has you losing sleep and cursing your best friends. What is _complicated,_ Draco, is why this is the first time I am hearing about it."

Draco looked away and sighed, "Yes, well."

"Don't. Don't do that. You always assume that no one will understand. But you aren't right on that one. We are the _shadow trio_ , D. You tell us things, we fix problems. It's what we do."

"This isn't Flobberworms, Neville! This is…this is an evil maniac making me… And…and I can't tell you anything else, because I don't want you…you can't be implicated if I don't…"

"Okay, okay. Calm down. We…you don't have to talk about anything else. Merlin. Draco, are you in danger?"

"Most likely."

"Well, at least that is a straight answer. Is there anything I can do about it?"

"Absolutely. You can stop sitting so far away."

Neville smiled sadly, and poked Draco lightly until he moved over. He snuggled down into the blankets, miraculously not actually touching Draco in the very narrow bed. It was the best part of Neville, that he knew instinctively how to be close and yet not touching, that he waited for Draco to initiate all contact at all times.

"Are there scars?" he asked, feeling foolish and vain, and not really caring.

"Yes," Neville said, not sugar coating because he didn't sugar coat. Another of his favourite things. Draco shifted himself subtly closer until the offensive arm was up against Neville's soft jumper. Neville took his hand, not at all flinching or questioning the contact. "It was a curse. Madame Pomfrey did what she could, but, curse marks."

"Harry must be a wreck."

"Typical. Worried about _Harry_ , as you lie in hospital with a Dark Mark and some dangerous, unnamed mission of evil."

"Hmm.…" Draco murmured as he shut his eyes.

He was in pain, but not from the attack. From the knowledge that this was his last night of comfort from this lovely boy. His last moments of friendship. Because after….well, after, he'd either be dead or in Azkaban, because one way or another, he didn't come out of this okay. And it hurt. It hurt to the depths of his soul. And it hurt that he couldn't- not just didn't want to- but physically couldn't tell Neville. Who was here, despite seeing a Dark Mark, providing comfort. Even after Draco had freely admitted to using the same spell that had destroyed Neville's life, right from the start. Draco did not deserve this comfort and it was breaking his heart. He knew he was crying, and he couldn't force himself to stop, no matter how hard he tried.

"You know, if you tell me, maybe I can help? Or find a way to stop it? You don't know-maybe the whole thing just needs a Gryffindor perspective, D. "

"Most likely, but I can't."

"Draco, I'm not going to judge you. I know you had no choice when-"

"No. Nev. I really… _can't_."

"Oh."

Draco kept crying. Crying and crying. Neville curled closer, and eventually fell asleep, but Draco kept crying.

The morning arrived in an instant. It should have lasted forever, and of course, that meant it could not. Draco awoke to Madame Pomfrey brusquely tidying the table around his bed, clearing it of potion bottles and spoons, moving Draco's wand to a drawer, lifting Neville's cloak.

"Mr. Longbottom," she said in her usual tone of rushed businesslike gentleness, not an ounce of judgement colouring her words. "I suggest you leave. Mr. Malfoy's mother should be arriving any moment now."

Neville nodded and placed a soft kids to Draco's forehead, one that could have meant nothing, but felt like heartbreak and the end of the world. He walked away for what Draco decided was the last time. He braced himself. Neville made it to the corridor before the floo in the far corner of the infirmary flared to life. The floo only ever used by rushed parents running to their children's side in haste and fear. Professor Snape was nowhere to be found now. He wished he was, so that his mother's calm could be assured. He was not going to be able to convince her that things were fine.

"Are you okay?" she said, worry clipping her words and her motions.

Instead of responding, he sank into his blankets and wished instead that Harry had killed him. At least then, it would be done. And maybe, if Harry had killed him, then the Dark Lord wouldn't have to punish his mother. Or even Severus. Because it would have only been Draco Malfoy failing. Draco Malfoy being a huge disappointment. No surprise there.

* * *

6\. **Failure**

Unlike during the time at the Ministry from the year before, Draco Malfoy had no idea when Harry left the castle to go to the cave. Not that anyone did, but Malfoy was rather more preoccupied than anyone else.

That morning, he had finally convinced the cabinets to bend to his will; he had managed to send a living thing back from Borgin and Burkes. Without recognising how inappropriate it was, he had whooped in celebration. Months of frustration were finally over. He hadn't even bothered to owl Lucius, and instead, had simply pressed the coin with his wand until it warmed in his hand, then waited. As the cloaked figures emerged, one by one, out of the small cabinet, he felt his skin grow cold and clammy. It was finally settling in, what he was about to do. He lingered near the back of the pack as they rushed through the school, spells cast and a battle suddenly raging without him knowing exactly when it had started, who had thrown the first volley.

Gibbon's wand was suddenly in the air, the _Morsmordre_ he cast upwards accompanied by a curling grin as he gestured to the stairs and said, "Give the old codger a little nudge. Get on with it Malfoy, we haven't got all night."

At the top of the stairs, Draco felt faint. The skull glowing green in the sky above the tower made him vomit; he made it over the ramparts, but as he waited, his empty stomach lurched again and again. Finally he heard footsteps, muttering, and he knew the moment was there.

Dumbledore was speaking to him softly, but Draco barely heard. He may have been answering the questions he was being asked, but he couldn't be sure. He was twitchy and unsettled, looking all around him, with a rush in his ears. He didn't hear much until he heard Dumbledore accuse him of not continuing with his task, heard him tell him that he had options.

"I haven't got any options!" said Draco, and he was suddenly as white as Dumbledore. "I've got to do it! He'll kill me! He'll kill my whole family!"

"You know there are people, people who can help you Draco. In fact, I think that your friends have been helping you all year, trying to talk you out of rash action without even knowing what they were trying to dissuade you from doing. They will forgive you your cowardice, if you stop now. If you give up. I have known, of course, what you were planning all year. I understand your predicament."

Draco was considering what he could do now. He had Dumbledore's wand. He had him trapped. He could end this now. But did it really end? If he did this one thing, what was next? At the beginning of the year, it had seemed like a one-off. But, now, Draco had had way too much time to think about it, outside of the Manor and away from the whispering of Lucius and fear for his mother. His wand quivered, lowered slightly. Just then, there was a stomping of boots below them, and they were surrounded by the Death Eaters he had allowed to enter the castle, the people he had spent all year trying to avoid having by his side in this moment. He was instantly angry at himself for thinking they would help. Here they were, about to take away his last chance. Amycus Carrow was suddenly at his right hand.

There was commotion then, conversation between Greyback and Dumbledore, the noise of the order below them, but Draco heard none of it. Blood was rushing through his ears. He knew, _knew_ , that he wasn't going to do it. He hadn't accounted for the fact that he knew this man so well. For six years, he had watched him help Harry, had watched him protect them all from threat after threat. The man was smart and loyal and brave; there were times when he was not these things, and Draco had thought that would be enough to convince him to act, but they were not. After all, even Albus Dumbledore was human, and he was allowed to be rash and elusive and even, however occasionally, wrong. Draco could not kill; Draco Malfoy was not a murderer.

All these things went through his head, but he knew, also that he needed to pay attention to the room again. When he pulled himself back, he heard only Dumbledore, despite the shouting below and on the tower. He heard him mutter for Snape. He heard the words, 'Severus, please'.

Then he saw the green light flash.

And heard the horrid scream.

And he watched Dumbledore fall.

Time should have captured him and held him still, since the world had just ended. Instead, he felt his feet move forward as Snape pulled him along. He knew there was a battle raging on around him, but he saw nothing, cast no spells. Finally, when they had reached the ground, he was snapped back into sharp focus by a bellowed spell, by the sight of Harry, the look on his face beyond description. He saw the eyes of a friend he had always been able to count on, but they were full of hate and spite and despair. Draco might as well have killed Dumbledore, and he knew that forgiveness from Harry was never possible. What was left of his ability to feel or think disappeared in that gaze, and it was instinct alone that carried his feet away from Snape when he was ordered to run.

Minutes, maybe hours, maybe days passed him by. After Snape apparated them both to the safe house, after his mother had come and wrapped him in a blanket, after the shivering had stopped and the blinding headache had subsided, Draco still had not spoken.

Dumbledore was dead. Hogwarts was no longer safe. The Dark Lord would soon be in control.

And it was all Draco Malfoy's fault.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This line, spoken by Draco in Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince, during the Lightning-Struck Tower, is a quote from the book:
> 
> "I haven't got any options!" said Draco, and he was suddenly as white as Dumbledore. "I've got to do it! He'll kill me! He'll kill my whole family!"
> 
> \- all rights to these words to JK Rowling.


	7. Seventh Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're really far off script now. Dont worry. This is not the end.

"Draco? Draco, darling. You need to get up and eat something. I brought you a tray."

Draco closed his eyes tightly, drawing a pillow over his face to avoid the light that spilled into his bedroom as his mother pulled back the drapes and opened the curtains around his bed. His limbs felt heavy and stiff. He'd been here for days. For weeks. Possibly for decades. He didn't know. He'd shuffled from the bathroom to the bed countless times, his stupid body refusing to just die, already, and therefore requiring normal functions. Severus had forced him to take several nutrition potions, possibly using Imperius once or twice.

He just couldn't remember. Or convince himself to care.

"Draco. You have to move," he heard distantly. "Now. In an hour, you will be coming downstairs. There have been…developments. Things have changed."

His mother's urgent and terrified tone almost filtered through his fug, but not quite. He looked at her, not really seeing. She looked back with terror in her eyes.

"Draco. I'm serious. Up. Now. Your father is back. He's coming upstairs."

Draco hardly cared that Lucius was out of Azkaban. Or that he was in the house. Or that, if his mother's fear was to be read correctly, so too were at least some of the Death Eaters. Auntie Bella for sure. Probably Dolohov and Yaxley. Who knew who else. It didn't feel like it mattered all that much. The tray of food, which smelt vile, was sitting in his lap before he had even properly sat up. He tried to sip his tea.

He still hadn't said anything at all, but his mother didn't seem to care. She was perched, now, at the side of his bed looking terrified and worried about him in equal measure. Suddenly, a heavy set of footsteps was pounding up the stairs. It made him jolt. No one who lived in this house walked that way.

But when his door swung open, and his father walked in, Draco's tiny jolt of fear felt like nothing compared to his shock at the shell of the man he had known. Lucius entered cautiously, his movements jumpy and practiced, his gaze everywhere and nowhere at once. He was skinny and gaunt, and his clothing hung pathetically off his frame. His hair was stringy and broken, just barely held in place. He was not, Draco saw, a proud patriarch. Not any longer.

"He is still in bed. You said you could get him up," Lucius said with shaky voice.

"He will be up shortly. He is on holiday- he's been lying in longer than normal. It is fine, dear. He is a teenager, after all," his mother said soothingly, not at all shocked by the appearance of Lucius, and yet with tired eyes at odds with her forced bright tone.

Draco didn't move when Lucius came closer, clearly observing him from a distance. It was like he was trying to quantify this thing in front of him, claiming to be his son. Which was fair, he supposed. When he thought about the reverse of it all, he realised that the shock he had felt must be the same for Lucius; it had been the same amount of time since he had seen his son. Draco knew he looked a mess. Skinny and sleep-deprived, sallow and broken. He didn't know what to say, so he stayed silent.

"Did you do it?" Lucius was demanding quietly.

Draco could not command his limbs, and his movements felt jerky and disjointed, but he nodded. There were any number of things that Lucius could mean. It didn't matter; he had done them all.

"Liar," Lucius hissed.

And Draco hated him then. He had greatly disliked Lucius before, and he'd believed that had been hate. But he had been wrong. Because, right now, in this moment? He hated Lucius. Hated him enough to kill him, he should think, if he could only bring himself to try. And the thought turned his hate inward. When had he become this person? The one to throw around thoughts of torture and death, the one who had committed more than one Unforgivable, whether or not they had been successful.

"A filthy, mudblood loving _liar._ And now you will ruin us all," Lucius hissed again.

Suddenly though, he looked away from Draco, stopped approaching the bed, looked fearfully all around him.

"Narcissa," he said harshly. "Make him get up. We need to be in the dining room in twenty minutes. The others are already here. The Dark Lord will not be pleased."

"He's...he's here?" Draco asked, his voice scratchy and unrecognisable from disuse as he said the first words he'd said in days.

"He is," Lucius simpered, eyes not landing on anything as he spoke. "He is not pleased with us. We must show him utmost respect. Now, move, Draco. Dress in your best robes."

And that made Daco stand. That made him wash and dress in hasty, terrified motions. Because the only clear memory that he had of the evil that was Voldemort was of kneeling before him as his arm was marked forever; as he knelt before him and was given a task that would destroy his carefully constructed life.

That was his memory of a moment, just one moment. One where he had been in good grace and favour. Draco was pretty sure that if he had created anger in the Dark Lord, he would kill him this time. His displeasure at his failure could surely be the death Draco had had been waiting for.

-XxXxXxXXxXxX-

Of course, an hour later, he stood still alive and well. He even had possession of his wand. His father was still alive too, though Draco wasn't entirely sure why, other than the fact that the Dark Lord needed his wand to recognise that it had been given freely. The house was empty again, with the Death Eaters having Apparated from the street shortly after the meeting had ended. In death. Draco wretched again, heaving an empty stomach into the toilet of his suite, where he had fled and locked the door the second he thought he would not be missed. He assumed that at some point, Lucius would try to beat him for falling out of his chair when Voldemort had set the killing curse.

 _An embarrassment to the Malfoy name,_ Draco thought dismally.

* * *

The rest of the summer passed uneventfully. He heard little, since he refused to eat with his family, or read _The Prophet_ , or accept his mail. His mother seemed just frightened enough to acquiesce to these ludicrous demands. Either that, or the sullen insolence of her teenage son fell very low on her list of priorities.

The only thing Draco could think as he stood with both his parents on the train platform was how much taller he was now. He hadn't noticed since his last growth spurt, but he was suddenly a few inches taller than his mother, and was only an inch or so away from catching up with his father. They were so similar in height that the ludicrous image of a set of skittles crossed his mind as they stood there in a tiny triangle; fitting, he thought, since someone really ought to try and knock them down.

As the train approached, Draco broke his own rule and rushed forward onto the train without a single glance back to his family. He frantically searched the train, even though he knew he didn't need to because he already knew what he would find. No Harry. No Hermione. No Ron. He stood in shock at the mouth of the carriage where he found Ginny Weasley, Neville, Seamus and Dean.

He said nothing as they stared back at him.

"Draco!" a voice said from behind him.

He turned to find Luna walking toward him, arms already outstretched as though she was going to hug him. He backed away quickly, wild eyed, and fled the scene. He had said nothing to any of them, and blissfully, Luna's arms just fell and she did not follow him.

"What was that about?" he only just heard Luna ask quietly, entering the carriage of Gryffindors and closing the door quickly behind her.

He went to the back of the train, and locked the door to the small broom closet beside the caboose. He stayed there until he felt the train slow.

The Great Hall didn't look the same; the banners were gone, the head table was bare. The podium, with its Eagle wings and gold lustre had disappeared, and in its place, an old, very Pureblood lectern stood, with vines and leaves, and if you looked close enough, a frigging snake. It made Draco want to gag. Behind it, Severus Snape sneered down at the gathered children.

Draco sat in the middle of some third year Slytherins he barely recognised. He didn't look at anyone, and he didn't eat any food. From far away, he could feel the Carrows' eyes boring into the side of his head. He hated that they were here. They were everything that a Death Eater should be; blood purists, ruthless, uncaring of pain or consequence. They were Voldemort's perfect soldiers, and Draco knew better than anyone what it was going to be like to live with them. He felt his body shudder against his will. The memory of the body of Professor Burbage hitting his formal dining table was starkly back in focus when he saw the empty space at the teacher's table.

Even as Snape gave some simpering and frightening speech about toeing the line in times of tribulation, and remembering that rules were there for the safety of all, Draco sat staring at the table. He refused to look around, refused to look up and see Luna and Neville, or to note the truth he knew without even looking up.

Harry wasn't here. Neither were Ron, or Hermione. They were gone. He didn't know where; he doubted if anyone did. Because complete secrecy was the only way they were going to be safe. From Voldemort.

From Draco.

When everyone went back to the common room that evening, he stalked to his bed, and closed the curtains without speaking to anyone. He cast a silencing spell, and some protective charms for good measure, but in reality, not even Pansy was actually trying to talk to him. Apparently, the rumour of him having something to do with Dumbledore's death had spread. The fervent glances around him told him that he was being treated with a healthy amount of fear. The thought wearied him. In some other timeline, some other Draco might have enjoyed this; right now, he just missed his friends. The ones who had never believed he was evil just because of his name.

That night, he came disastrously close to crying. He woke to find his schedule balanced on his trunk. He was only taking three classes; Potions, of course, and Arithmancy and Defence. He found his stomach churning violently as he read the course outline, though, under Alecto Carrow. It seemed he was going to learn even more about the Dark Arts.

And so was everyone else.

Time passed in a weird and disjointed manner. None of the normal markers of time happened this year. There was no start to the Quidditch season, what with the teams comically uneven, the brooms locked away in some unknown location, and the conspicuous absence of Madame Hooch. They could have still played, of course, but he had a feeling that was the last thing Snape was going to allow.

The Halloween feast happened, technically, but it was so full of horrible things that most of the very few first years that arrived that year had run from the hall screaming, much to the delighted cackles of the Carrow siblings, their disgusting white teeth glinting in the candle light.

The stories he heard of the other classes made him feel like he was actually in the best situation he could possibly have secured for himself. Severus was being relatively fair in Potions still, and seemed to be trying, in some way anyway, to keep the students safe. It appeared that he was still trying to stay loyal to Hogwarts, though Draco couldn't fathom why; Death Eaters didn't exactly love the school and it's philosophy.

Arithmancy, which had quickly become his favourite subject under Hermione's excellent tutelage, was a balm to his painful existence. Each week, the only work he did outside of class was the homework Professor Vector set them; the number charts and symbols still made sense in the funhouse version of Hogwarts he lived in now. He could work through them slowly and steadily, and they required no emotional attachment. He only wished this extended to Professor Vector, who refused to look at him in class, and would not answer his questions when his hand was raised.

Meanwhile, Defence got more and more terrifying, until he was pretty sure that the even the Slytherins whose parents _were_ in fact Death Eaters seemed frightened. He wasn't even _in_ Muggle Studies, and he couldn't imagine what information was being handed out as fact in that class.

By winter, Draco's trousers didn't stay up. He could count on one hand the number of meals he ate each week. He was only alive still because of his _Imperius_ induced nutrition potions, forced into his system at his weekly meeting with Severus. The meeting was also not his choice, but it was actually one of the better parts of his week.

During the hour in the Headmaster's office, he didn't have to pretend not to be broken; he could ask questions he would get no answers to, leave mail he knew would never get delivered. There was so much rumour flying around these days that even Snape seemed unsure of his information. In Draco's entire life, this had never been the case, and the confusion of his confidant threw him more than anything else.

Snape was, however, aware of the movements of the Dark Lord; that he was still looking for Harry. That he was still trying to round up all the Muggle Born families, that for all intents and purposes, he had taken over the Ministry. It looked like, unless something drastic happened, Voldemort had won. Draco couldn't see how Harry planned to stop him, especially now that he had chosen to just disappear.

It was after one of these sessions with Snape that his life shifted once again. It was right before school broke up for the Christmas holidays. Right after a bright white blanket of clean snow that remained untouched for days, since students were no longer allowed to go out of the castle without express permission; not that they ever asked. The grounds were now synonymous with torture and fear, favoured as they were for detentions that could happen away from prying eyes. Younger students didn't ask, and older students were too concerned with appearing to be plotting something to bother either. Draco didn't even have the energy to mourn the loss of a Snow day.

He was trying to process the information Snape had just given him- namely, that the Death Eater's had taken up permanent residence at Malfoy Manor, and that his father still did not have a wand- when he bumped into a solid object. He was in such a daze that it took him a moment to realise that it was a person. And not just a person, but Luna.

"Draco," she said, sounding more sad than he had ever heard her. "You look awful."

"Lu-"

"No, you can't talk to me. I shouldn't be saying anything to _you_. Neville would be angry. But, just listen, okay?"

He looked her directly in the eye, and startled slightly. For a second, he wasn't sure why. She didn't look that bad. She had a mysterious bruise above her right eye, and her hair seemed a bit unkempt, but she looked no worse than any of them. He realised after a beat, however, that he was shocked because this was the first time in three months that he had looked anyone in the eye.

He remembered why he'd stopped, standing here in front of his friend. Luna's eyes were full of fear, and sadness. They had never looked this way before. Luna was a pillar of strength, unperturbed by anything and always finding a silver lining. Now, she looked just as defeated as the rest of them.

He nodded, remembering she had asked him to listen.

"There's a story, isn't there? One we don't know, about Dumbledore? Neville is being really….I don't know, Neville-y about the whole thing. He doesn't forgive easily, and he sees things in black and white."

"Gryffindor," Draco whispered, more to himself than her.

"Well, yes," Luna chuckled. "But I'll deny it if you say so. You know I think house-ism is silly. Anyway, not the point. There's a story, we don't know it, and I refuse to believe that you have actually become a Death Eater."

Tears sprang to his eyes then, and he wanted so desperately to hug her. He didn't, he couldn't, but the urge was _almost_ too strong to ignore.

"I, I want to know something," Luna continued.

"Ask, Luna," he muttered. The volume of his voice appeared to be broken.

"Can he hear us?"

Draco tilted his head, genuinely confused for a moment. Can who hear them? Harry? Snape? And when it hit him, he felt ridiculous.

"No, he can't. Occlumency lessons with Snape. I'm better than-"

"Fine, fine. Draco, listen. I'm going to trust you...against everyone else's judgement, too. But, I do. So...there's a way to get more information, but you have to be careful. You have to be so careful, and you can't let the other-"

"No other Slytherins, Luna. None," Draco said, then added, pleading for the first time ever, "Please."

She handed him a piece of paper, her hand lingering in his palm, pressing down gently with her small fingers. It made him break further without knowing what was left to break. Her hand was so small. None of this was right. She smiled sadly, and walked away, not another word. He didn't try to stop her. She had already put herself in enough danger.

He sank down against the wall and clutched the paper tightly. It was short, had only a few words on it. And it wasn't parchment, which made him want to laugh, though he honestly didn't remember how; it looked like Luna had torn a page out of a book somewhere.

_Wireless network. Wand action for an amplifying charm. Seven tonight. Password is Prewett._

The paper was baffling, but Draco took it with him and went to the Room of Requirement during supper that night. He walked in to find only a chair and a wireless radio. When he heard the voice of Lee Jordan, and others he could not place, he didn't stay sitting for long. He paced throughout the broadcast, hungrily digesting every bit of information he could. It was a balm to his soul, and one he had not earned. He memorised the next password and burned the paper from Luna.

When he got on the train, he felt better, which was stupid. But he had a secret, and it felt powerful.

* * *

Christmas was a tedious affair, full of war talk and Death Eaters, the Carrows trying to force him to corroborate their tales of torture and violence. His father was shrunken and small, a thing he had dreamed of for years; the reality was not at all satisfying. His mother's eyes never landed anywhere for long. They lived in the top west wing of the Manor, trying to hide within treacherous walls.

Even though he knew the place he was headed back to was not actually Hogwarts, he felt relief seep back into his bones as the scarlet engine arrived. Draco noticed, in the back of his mind, that he hadn't seen Luna, but there was too much misery for the information to filter through. If anything, he figured her father had just come to his senses and kept her home.

That winter was simply cold and rainy; the snow was gone, and the sky stayed grey. It was easy to understand why, as names rolled on and on, the death list of just wizards growing painfully long as the Dark Lord tried to draw Potter out. He couldn't even imagine how many Muggle lives had been lost. He shuddered to think that there was a large portion of this that was his own fault.

The dreary weather forced him inside, into the Slytherin dorm. And he couldn't hide in his bed all the time, despite his best efforts. It meant that he had slightly more interaction with people. Sort of. He mostly listened. He heard news sixth or seventh hand, since most of his house was still not speaking to him directly. He had heard, finally, of the attempts of Luna, Nev, and Ginny Weasley to break into the Headmaster's office. He heard of the first years that had been taught to cast an _Imperius_ before they had been taught to disarm. He heard of tiny acts of rebellion that made him feel a tiny flicker of hope and pride, even as he felt his soul despair.

Somehow, he had to keep going to classes. He tried to protect the younger Slytherins as best he could; he never himself incurred detention, but there were still a handful of students with questionable Blood Status, and he took on the Carrows directly more than once, proud Malfoy chin raised in direct defiance. He was not passing any of his classes, but it hardly mattered.

Finally, a week before Easter holidays, Snape called Draco into his office a day before their scheduled meeting. He handed him a piece of parchment. He was going home a week early.

Severus looked at him for a long time from across the great and imposing death.

"I am going to tell you something that I don't think you are ready to hear," he said finally.

Draco didn't answer.

"But, I can't watch you waste away like this any longer. I tell you in confidence, you understand," Severus waited for Draco to incline his head. "Very well. Try to let this sink in, Draco. It might save your soul."

"Severus-"

"Hush, boy. Dumbledore, you did not kill him. We know that," Severus looked at him significantly again. "I said, _hush._ "

The word acted as a _Silencio,_ though Snape had not actually cast a spell.

"There was nothing you could have done. But the thing you do not know… I, Draco, did not kill Albus Dumbledore either."

Draco stared at Severus hard.

"You are so very young, my dear boy. You do not understand as much as you think you do," Snape sighed. "Albus was already dying. He asked me to-"

"Liar," Draco whispered.

"You know I am not. But I suppose it hardly matters. You are taking my floo. You should go now, before they get suspicious. Off you go."

Draco didn't even know how to respond to the ridiculous statement from Snape, but as it was, he didn't have time. Severus had thrown floo powder into the grate, and pushed Draco forward, and he had no choice but to shout his own home's name into it in order to not end up trapped in the nowhere. He landed hard on the hearth in the great room at the manor.

Lucius stared down at him with distaste, but it was hard to meet his eye when Draco looked around the room; there was nothing here. The room that had once contained hundreds of Galleons worth of ancient House of Malfoy heirlooms was stark and bare, the few remaining pieces of furniture pushed against walls.

"What-" Draco began.

"Draco, dear," Narcissa interjected, taking his elbow. "We are sorry to pull you from classes. We found we missed you rather desperately. Your Auntie Bella too."

Draco tried to keep his face impassive. He assumed he failed, because his mother's glare intensified.

"I'm sorry to welcome you with a job," Narcissa said coldly. "But I need you to go straight to the cellar and bring back the best bottle you can find. You decide. We need it for supper, and you know how your father hates the elves touching the wine."

It was true that Lucius hated the elves going into the cellar. But truthfully, Lucius hated _anyone_ but him touching the wine. Yet, Lucius stood there, saying nothing, and his mother was almost comically animated, trying to convey something. Draco, shocked and slightly confused, nodded silently.

As he walked down the cellar steps, waiting for the regular cold of the underground space to hit him, he was filled with a sense of renewed foreboding, aided in part by the fact that he could hear soft chatter in the dark space in front of him.

"H-hello?" he called quietly into the darkness, illuminating his wand and moving forward with extreme trepidation.

The voices fell silent, and he thrust his wand forward carefully into the cellar space.

"Draco?" said an achingly familiar voice that made Draco close the gap quickly.

" _Luna,_ " he hissed, seeing her pale face in his wand light.

She was dirty, with matted hair and a sallow expression. Behind her, another familiar face stood, looking afraid and cowering.

"Mr. Ollivander, do you remember Draco Malfoy? You don't need to be afraid, I think he can help us."

"Luna, what happened? How long have you been here?"

"Well," Luna said, stepping forward up to the cellar door. He felt the wards that had always been in place here push back against her intrusion. "I think it might be a while now. They took me off the train on the way back to Hogwarts after Christmas. Mr. Ollivander here showed up a while later. What month is it, Draco?"

"Oh, Lu…It's almost Easter," Draco said, stepping up to her and taking her hands. "Are you alright?"

"More or less," Luna said. "Mr. Ollivander and I have had some very good talks. And they keep feeding us, so...But Draco, are _you_ okay?"

Draco smiled sadly. Only Luna Lovegood would even contemplate asking him that question when she had been held for months in _his_ family home.

"I think so, Luna. I'll get you out of here."

"No!" Luna shouted. "You can't. I think me being here is keeping my father safe."

Draco looked away. He had been listening to Potterwatch. He knew Xenophilius was in Azkaban. He also knew that Luna did not need to hear that right now.

"Listen to me, Draco. You have to go back upstairs. You have to pretend that everything is fine. Can you do that for me?"

"I-" Draco began, but Luna looked at him hard.

"Draco, I have not asked you for anything in a very long time," Luna said. "You owe me this."

His resolve disappeared.

He nodded, "Fine, but I am coming back tonight. Okay?"

"If it's safe. Promise me you won't cross anyone in the meantime, though."

"I'll try."

-XxXxXxXxXxX-

That night, he crept down from his bedroom, tiptoeing carefully past the room where Auntie Bella slept, down the stairs beyond where Yaxley was holed up. He moved in well-practiced silence, a skill he had not tried to use since second year. He passed one or two elves, busy with midnight chores, but they merely looked at him with fearful eyes and then ignored him.

When he reached the cellar, holding blankets he had snatched along the way, he found Ollivander asleep in the corner, and Luna humming to herself against the cellar door. She didn't jolt or look shocked when Draco's wand light blinked into her view. He settled onto the floor, and silently passed her a blanket. Conjuring a small ball of light, a spell he had not used since the death of Dumbledore, he leaned against the door as well, relishing the warmth of his friend. He didn't deserve the comfort, but he took it greedily.

Luna smiled.

"Hermione," she said, gesturing to the light and turning slightly. She took Draco's hand through the bars. "I've missed you all, Draco."

"Luna, if I had known-"

"If you had known, you would have been as unable to do anything as you were anyway," Luna said. "At least you were safe."

For an hour or so, they caught each other up. Draco told her all he could from the Potterwatch broadcasts, tried to describe the changes at Hogwarts. He told her about the classes, the ridiculous rhetoric they were all being fed, the detentions. In turn, Luna told him everything she had overheard about the plans Voldemort was harbouring, about Ollivander and the interrogations. About the Deathly Hallows. Finally, they both fell silent, their hands still clasped and resting on the floor.

"Luna, about Dumbledore… I didn't-"

"Draco, hush. I meant what I said at Halloween. I don't think it was you. I _know_ you better than that. Even if that was what you were supposed to do, I don't think you'd have gone through with it. That isn't…you don't owe me a story."

"Luna," Draco whispered. "I don't understand how you are so very strong."

"Well, I should think you do, actually. I just have faith. Faith in _good_."

"Yes, but Luna-"

"Faith in Gryffindors. And in Harry. And in, I don't know…love."

"Lu-" he tried to start again.

"Draco Malfoy," she interrupted. "I know we are in the middle of a war, but you look like you are losing. You are more than your family, D. You always have been. You are the boy who Harry Potter forgave. The one who freed his father's elf. Who loves snow more than anything else."

He sat up and looked at her carefully. But apparently, Luna wasn't finished.

"You are Draco Malfoy, who helps his friends, who is very good at chess, and who would never, _ever_ let those he loves down. So why, Mr. Malfoy, have you _given up._ That's not like you at all."

"Luna," he said for the third time. "I just don't know what to do to stop him anymore. We haven't heard from them in _months_ \- and we don't even know what they are doing! I have Death Eaters in my house all the time, and the school is being run by Voldemort. I don't know what to…there is nothing we can do."

"You know that isn't true, though, right?"

"Well, then what?"

"You're doing it. You just told me. You stop the Carrows. You're talking to me. You are doing the things that are right, and good," Luna reached up and touched his face. "And that is all that they need from us. Harry hasn't abandoned anyone. We have to trust that he is doing what he is meant to do. Neville knows, he told me before we left for Christmas. We just carry on."

Draco nodded.

"Now, stop this silly sadness and tell me a story. A bedtime story. I know you remember them."

He laughed carefully and nodded. He sat a while longer, telling Luna the parts of _Babbity Rabbity_ he could remember, and then he dragged himself back to bed.

-XxXxXxXxXxX-

For the next six nights, he spent his time with Luna. She did what Luna Lovegood always did; she lifted his spirits. She convinced him that things would be good again, one day. That they could defeat the Dark Lord and that their friends would forgive him.

Thanks to Luna Lovegood, Draco was surviving being upstairs, surviving Bellatrix Lestrange, and his mother's twisted truths, and his father's fearful anger. He felt the anger he had always felt before rise back up; anger at being controlled, anger at being forced to believe in the nonsense of Pureblood birth. He felt much more like himself.

It was likely due to this that six days later, when a furious pounding at the front door drew them all to the front parlour, Draco Malfoy was ready for anything. He knew who he was, and what he had to do.

Of course, nothing could have prepared him for seeing the faces of his best friends; dirty and bloody, in the arms of snatchers, looking far worse for wear than he'd ever seen them before, but nonetheless, his friends. Hermione was thin and looked exhausted. Ron's hair was a ludicrous length and he looked like he might be able to kill them all with the slightest glance. Harry bore bruises and grit, and was so swollen that Draco instantly recognised Hermione's quick thinking. They looked around the room, and he shrunk down carefully behind the furniture that remained. He tried to save them the seeing him, save them having to guard their reactions.

When he heard Bellatrix ask him to identify them, Luna's voice echoed in his ears.

 _You don't have to be everything_ , he thought. _You just have to be enough._

And he heard himself whisper, "I can't be sure."

There was yelling and commotion, and there were screams from both sides. Before he knew what was happening, Harry and Ron were being dragged down the stairs. Hermione was held in the painful grip of Bellatrix, who inexplicably had a sword and looked even more murderous than normal. He felt the blood drain from his face as Auntie Bella ordered them all out of the room.

He forced his feet to move forward. He couldn't help Hermione if he was dead.

For the next half an hour, he paced. Beside his mother, he felt his limbs grow stiff and leaden at the screams of his friend in the next room. More than once, his mother held his arms back to stop him from rushing into the dining room.

Finally, he couldn't take it any longer.

"Dobby!" he screamed into the open space, startling both his parents as he rushed down toward the cellar.

Curses crashed all around him as Wormtail tried to grab his arms. Hermione's terrified screams of pain echoed in his ears, and the crack of Dobby apparating barely registered. In seconds, the elf had the door open and the five of them were rushing after Draco back up to the dining room.

"Wait, Draco," Luna said. "There are too many of us."

"Right, Dobby," Harry said, his face back to normal now, and determinedly not looking at Draco. "Can you take Luna and Mr. Ollivander, and then come back here? We will stop Wormtail."

Dobby nodded, and barely paused as he grabbed the hands of the tired and weak looking prisoners and vanished. Still not looking at him, Ron and Harry rushed passed Draco and held out their arms. As Wormtail rounded the corner, Draco pulled his wand from his grip with a hasty spell. They watched in horror as the silver hand from Peter Pettigrew's final master stole the remaining miserable seconds of his life. There wasn't time, however, to stay and help. Hermione screamed again, louder than before.

At the top of the stairs, they found Bellatrix, poised with her wand raised high. At the same moment, Dobby reappeared. There was a great crash, and several things happened all at once. Harry collapsed in pain, Ron cast a wild and angry _expelliarmus_ that had every wand in the room in his hands, and Bellatrix screamed, dropping an unconscious Hermione to the floor. Draco reached out and grabbed Hermione's hand. There was shouting about the Dark Mark and Voldemort's imminent arrival, but Draco was too focused on checking for breathing and signs of life to pay much attention.

Seconds later, a chandelier fell to the ground, Draco felt his wand leave his hand, and Ron was grabbing Hermione by the waist.

He heard one last furious scream from Bellatrix as the familiar crushing blackness or Disapparation stole his remaining breath.

They landed on a pebbled beach hard; Draco sucked in the air that had been missing from his lungs and looked down at Hermione, who was still in his grasp. Her eyes fluttered open, and she gaped up at him in horror. He backed away slowly. She was clearly afraid of him. Suddenly, Ron's wand was pointed at his chest.

"You! Get away from her. Now," Ron was shouting. He obviously had not meant to bring Draco along when he'd Apparated.

"Ron," Draco said, raising his hands in defeat, but backing away just the same.

"Ron, stop," Hermione said weakly, getting to her knees.

"No," Harry said from a few feet away. "No no no nono. Dobby! Dobby, wake up!"

Draco felt his feet run toward Harry against his will, but suddenly, his own wand was also pointed at him.

"Stop, Malfoy. Just stop," Harry's voice was cold and distant, and only then did he remember that the last time he had been near these people had been to kill the Headmaster. He froze.

"How did you get here?" Harry said viciously, wand still threatening pointed.

"Harry, enough! He was holding onto me," Hermione pleaded. "Lower the wand."

"Dobby is dead," Harry replied instead, glaring at Draco as though he himself had killed the elf.

Draco's heart stuttered. Dobby had saved them all. How could they have failed to save him?

"I'll.…" he stammared. "I'll help you…move him. Bury him. Properly."

Harry's eyes snapped up to his face angrily.

"He deserves that," Draco finished.

" _I_ will bury him. You will go with Ron up to the cottage. Ron, make sure you secure him somehow."

"Harry," Hermione cried. "Honestly. That's _Draco_. Let's just talk about-"

"No, Hermione. No. He killed Dumbledore," Harry said brutally, his eyes flashing with determined strength.

The expression transformed Harry's face. Clearly, the year had led him to his true calling. Draco wanted to leap with joy; Harry Potter had finally stepped up, gotten over his bizarre fears, and become a leader. Of course, it would have been nice if the leader status weren't currently being used against him, but it didn't matter in the end. The outcome was what mattered. The other two followed the instructions Harry had given immediately, and in that few seconds, Draco felt a tiny bubble of hope resurface in him.

Harry Potter _could_ defeat Voldemort.

Even chained to a radiator in the top floor of the cottage, cold and wet and still somehow more at ease than he had been all year, Draco just felt like the was exactly where he was supposed to be.

An hour or so later, the door opened again. Instead of one of his friends, there stood an older man with flaming Weasley hair and a frightening, but somehow beautiful scar across his face.

"Bill?" Draco guessed.

"Baby Malfoy," the man replied with a smirk on his face. "Brought you a change of clothes."

"Surprised you were allowed."

"Harry and the others have gone," Bill said, with a slight grimace. "Sorry, mate. Wasn't my first choice. I tried to convince them."

"That's okay," Draco said. "I understand. They don't owe me anything. I'm just glad they got out."

"Hermione left this," Bill replied, unlocking Draco's wrists with a careless flick of his wand and handing him a piece of parchment. "Change, read it. Come down and get some food when you are ready. We have to sort out what to do with you."

"No, you don't. It's okay. I'll just leave. No one else should have to worry about me. I'm getting sick of that."

"Come down and get some food, Draco," Bill said carefully. His voice was not strident or angry, and for that reason, Draco somehow wanted to listen.

When he was alone again, Draco opened the folded parchment before he even stood up. Hermione's familiar, neat, careful writing made him feel like he could breathe again. He barely cared what was inside; he hadn't fully appreciated how much he'd missed his friends this year.

_Draco,_

_This letter is very much belated. I hope you can understand- it wasn't safe to send owls this year. I hope that Luna told you what she could. She promised she'd try at Bill and Fleur's wedding. I hope, also, that you are safe. Or as safe as any of us. There isn't much I can tell you safely, but you need to understand a few things._

_First, we have not abandoned you, or Hogwarts. Harry had a task to complete, one that impacts us all. We are helping him as much as we can. We are almost done, but I can't say more than that._

_Secondly, Harry has your wand. He disarmed you, he says, so it's allegiance has shifted. His wand broke, and he needs it. I have left a wand we took off a snatcher with Fleur. I'm sorry, but needs must._

_Lastly, Harry is very angry, very hurt, very confused. I guess maybe we all are. But unlike Ron and Harry, I have a feeling we don't have all the information about Dumbledore. I hope so, anyway. I know you are better than that, and I hope that you didn't let your father convince you otherwise. When this ends- if this ends- I want to know the rest. I want to know what happened. I can't promise to forgive you, but I can promise to listen._

_Go back to school, Draco. It's safer there than out here, not that that's saying much. If nothing else, Neville and Luna can help hide you. There's a map with a tunnel on it on the back of this letter. Let Bill get you to Hogsmeade. Don't do anything stupid. It took a lot to convince Harry to leave you at the cottage. Don't make me regret it, Malfoy._

_-Hermione_

Somehow, the letter was the securing factor. A couple of hours later, under cover of darkness, Draco accompanied Bill to Hogsmeade, snuck into the alley tunnel, into the corridor of the second floor, and silently followed Neville into the Room of Requirement. Which had turned itself into a bunker; there was a camp bed and a bathroom, and not much else.

"Stay here, okay?" Neville said, not meeting his eye.

"How long?"

"If I knew that, I could teach Divination," Neville snapped. "Luna said help you, so I am helping you. And only because she seems to think you saved everyone's lives. Just. Stay. Here."

* * *

His time in the Room stretched on, and on. And on. It was almost a month, in the end. It was strange, because technically, he was free. Free, but very trapped. Food appeared at regular intervals, and Luna had brought him a bunch of books and the disastrous lie that was _The Prophet_ now.

He spent his time reading and teaching himself. He had finally managed a fully corporeal Patronus, and some days, he spent as much energy as he could forcing the little fox to dance and play around the room because it almost felt like company. He'd also been able to master Arithmancy that was years beyond where he should be. He practiced all his defensive spells, worked on the skills he'd been taught in his brief foray into the DA, and tried to stop himself from going crazy. Sometime Luna visited, and Neville never did. Sometimes, he felt the room tighten and shift, squishing him only slightly as it made itself shift into some other purpose for other people.

It was a long three weeks. But when it was over, he instantly wished for those days of boring awfulness back.

-XxXxXxXxXxX-

The morning of 2 May dawned for Draco the same way every day did; he woke late with no direction or plan, but suddenly the door to his little prison cell ripped open, and Neville was standing on the other side, wild eyed and frightened.

"Draco, Harry's here. Come on," he said, turning on his heel and walking away.

Without thinking at all, Draco followed him. The assembled DA vaguely registered in his mind, but mostly, he saw Harry, Hermione, Ron. He saw them looking battle worn and frightening.

And worse, he saw Alecto Carrow round the corner.

In the chaos of Voldemort's arrival and Snape's disappearance, Draco watched the trio dip away. And his brain immediately registered the chance to help, for redemption. So he followed them.

When they ended up back at the Room of Requirement, he froze. Harry was glaring at him.

"Draco, whatever you are about to do to try and stop me-"

"I'm not going to stop you," Draco said, horrified at the thought. "I'm here to help!"

"Watch it, Harry. We can't trust-" Ron started.

"Whatever, Draco. If you're helping, help," Harry said, opening the door and walking through. Draco followed.

"We're looking for a small diadem- like a crown," Hermione said.

Draco nodded. They split up. There was too much in the room and it was distracting him. He'd never been particularly good at finding things. He had just turned a corner when he heard a noise that was disturbingly familiar. A sort of bumbling, rambling foot step.

"Harry, look out!" Draco shouted, hurling his borrowed wand into his hand and casting a disarming spell at Crabbe and Goyle, who were attempting to sneak up on Harry, wands drawn.

"You two, what the hell do you think you are doing?" Draco yelled, Malfoy voice back in full force.

"Draco," Goyle said, in what he supposed was meant to be a sneer. "Where've you been hiding yourself, hmm? You're in trouble, you are."

"Way I hear it," Crabbe added. "Both your daddy and the Dark Lord are looking for you…"

Draco gulped, and looked at Harry.

"Anyway, we're gonna take you to _him_. And Potter. And this di-dem thing, whatever that is," Goyle said.

Draco moved as quickly as he could. He ran forward, grabbed the diadem that Harry had been reaching for. There was suddenly heat and flame, and every sense he had ever felt was blocked out by sheer and total panic. He gripped the diadem carefully as he tried to pick his way beyond the flames. They were fast and fierce, and he held onto Crabbe's wrist, refusing to let him escape. Immediately, he gave himself into fate; he was fine with this, with this being how he ended. He wished he could get Harry the crown thing first, but truthfully, he didn't think it mattered all that much, though he couldn't say why. He closed his eyes. He gave into the panic and the fear and the heat.

"D!" a voice above him shouted. "Draco, give me your hand, you git!"

He looked up, and found Harry floating above him, reaching down and looking terrified.

"Quickly, D! Let go of Crabbe! You'll be too heavy."

He reached up and took Harry's hand. He instinctively let go of Crabbe's hand. He felt a moment of guilt as he watched Crabbe shrink away in the flame, but then he passed out and felt no more emotion of any kind.

When he awoke again, they were in the corridor; Hermione was at his side, coughing and rubbing her eyes. Ron lay beside her, looking like he had just fallen off the broom he'd been riding, legs twisted underneath him. Harry was pulling on Draco's arm, trying to dislodge the now broken and bent diadem, which had coated his arm in a thick, black liquid.

"Hermione, I think it's gone!" Harry was shouting.

"It must have been the Fyndfire!" She responded.

But Draco wasn't paying attention. He was listening to a voice; a terrible, sickening voice. One that was familiar and terrifying, and which was demanding the surrender of their last remaining hope.

"Harry, run. I'll go see what I can do to stop them," he heard himself say. He stood, he ran. There were shouts after him as his friends tried to stop him, but he was singular in his goal.

By the time his father saw him, Draco Malfoy had made up his mind. He would try his best to kill as many Death Eaters as he could before he himself was killed. It was the only way he'd ever feel any peace, any redemption. His borrowed wand was held loftily in front of him, and the shell of the human that was his father stood defenceless amongst the crowd.

-XxXxXxXxXxX-

Years later, Draco would be unsure of what transpired in that hour long period. He knew from reading the memoirs that ancient walls had crumbled, and countless students had died. Neville had destroyed a staircase, taking Voldemort's snake out with it, and somehow making him more vulnerable. He read about the death of Snape, and he knew that Harry had disappeared for some time. But all Draco remembered was pain. All Draco remembered was curses sent at him, the _Cruciatus,_ the _Diffindo._ He almost died three separate times, but he also knew that he had hindered the death of others. He met Slytherins who were fighting with him, and some who were fighting against. He saw the parents of friends send killing curses at children. He saw his home, the castle, fall to pieces.

The clearest memory he had of that evening was of the end of the battle; of watching Harry give himself up. Of watching with everyone else as Voldemort vanished, and cries of painful glee shot up from the crowd. He was lurking in the background, and as soon as he thought it was safe, he ran forward and hugged Luna. He whispered in her ear, waited until she nodded.

And then he ran.

With the last energy that he had available to him, Draco Malfoy ran one last time. He ran until he was standing in the hills beyond the school, until he knew the wards could not touch him. He Disapparated then, and settled into a careful crouch as he watched his mother's secret hideaway from afar. Nestled into the Pyrenees, no one came. For hours, all night. No one came looking.

Finally, he went inside, and allowed the racking sobs to collapse his lungs. He cried for the ones who had died, for the loss of his friends. For the loss of the family he knew he could never forgive. He cried in relief and calm. For a week, he didn't do much of anything, but not like last time. He ate. He slept. He made himself live, because he owed Harry that.

A week later, a knock at the door startled him from his chair, shaking his book from his lap. On the other side, a familiar face, covered still in small cuts and bruises, brown hair wild and unkempt, but rested and serene. He flew into Hermione's arms, not even bothering to say hello or act cautiously. He hadn't forgotten that technically, Hermione hated him. Technically, he had betrayed them all.

"Hermione," he said quietly, still in her arms.

"Hi, Draco," she replied.

Inside, they talked. She told him an unbelievable story as he sat on the floor with her. She told her of schemes and plans, of former Headmasters, of defeat and redemption. She finally fell silent, and he cleared his throat.

"So, I've come to bring you home, Draco," she said after a beat. "Harry wants to talk to you."

Draco looked at her for a moment.

"'Mione.…I can't. I can't come home. I have a Mark," Draco said, thrusting his covered arm toward her. "He can't be seen with me."

"He doesn't care."

"He should," Draco said. "Hermione, who…is everyone else okay?"

"Neville is fine," Hermione said, a small wry smile on her face. "If that's what you're really asking."

"I wasn't. I knew he was fine. He and I- It's not a thing we ever should have done, really," he said.

And shocking them both, Hermione started to laugh.

"Well that's a relief, since I'm pretty sure he's in love with Luna."

Draco looked at the lightness in her face, and saw hope and futures and joy that had disappeared for a long, long time. He suddenly found himself laughing to, although he wasn't quite sure what he was laughing about.

"Draco, I'm sorry."

"What? Hermione, you have nothing to apologise for. "

"I do. We should have trusted you more. We should have known you better than that…we love you, still. Even now. It's what I came to say, really. We can find a way through all this, now that he's gone."

"Is he? Really, I mean?"

"Harry thinks so."

"That's enough, I think," Draco said, smiling at Hermione more easily than he had smiled in years. "It's enough."

"Weirdly, I think it is. Oh! Here," she said, reaching into her bag and pulling out a long thin object. "Harry told me that when you come back, the two of you can duel and he'll let you win so it's allegiance switches back, but in the meantime, it's probably better than that old snatcher wand."

He took the slender hawthorne branch in his hand, the familiar weight feeling like home. He cast a small flame into the middle of the table.

"I love these, still," he said.

"All three of you act like those flames are the greatest magic in the world," she replied, laughing again.

"It is. Having light in darkness is always the greatest magic, Hermione."

They sat, silently looking at the flame for a moment.

"You really aren't' coming home, are you," Hermione said finally, reaching across the coffee table and taking his hands.

"No, I'm really not."

"Okay," Hermione said. "But I'm going to come visit you."

He looked at her, saw determination. He knew that he was not going to stop Granger determination, so he tried for the next best thing.

"Just you."

"What?! Draco, why?"

"Because," he said, looking at her with his own stubborn determination, making her see how serious he was. "I'm tired of putting them in danger. Tired of it. So just you, or I'll-"

"You'll what, D? Obliviate me? You know you wouldn't do that," she said, standing and angry now. She took a deep breath. "Fine. Only me. I don't like it, but...Okay. I'm going to go."

"Love you, Hermione. I'm glad you're alive. Tell Ron how…I'm so sorry about Fred."

Pain crossed her face again. She nodded.

"Take care of him, okay?"

"I always do, you git."

"I know."

After she left, Draco stood outside, looking at the mountains, breathing deeply and feeling an overwhelming calm. Against all odds, he was pretty sure they were all going to survive.

And that was more of a victory than he had ever imagined was possible.


	8. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Well, here we are, at the end of the journey. Having never written a WIP before, I was unprepared for how hard it would be. If you stayed for the entire wild ride, I am endlessly grateful for your patience. Reader support makes writers write, so seriously, thank you.
> 
> Final warning of this story; when I started writing this, I had no idea where it would take me. I never intended pairings, and I stick to that. HOWEVER, this is an epilogue, and therefore, people end up in relationships. Some of those relationships are HET, some are not. Some are Canon, some are not. If you've read the other chapters, you should have some idea where you are headed because nothing has changed that much. More importantly, this is still teen rated fluff, and nothing explicit is going to shock you. In fact, this could almost be a G rated chapter. But, it's also real life. So there is a little bit of sadness (it's a ProfessorDrarry after all. I'm just not capable of avoiding angst). Consider yourself warned.
> 
> Lastly, most importantly; this story exists because of the lovely imaginings of the #hafhpotterhead community, who are made of awesome and beauty. I feel extremely fortunate that they include me as one of them. Thanks for the plunnies, and for then reading them ;)
> 
> Enjoy.

 

**After the Battle**

For the next three years, five months, and two weeks, Draco Malfoy hid in a very small town in the Pyrenees. He brushed up on his French, and tried to spend a little bit of time each day wandering the village and seeing other humans.

He studied Magical law from books he sent away for under a fake name, and practiced intermediate magic as best he could all on his own. He taught himself to cook, and picked up the violin for the first time since he was 10.

Each month, Hermione would show up, only once. She would bring him completely unnecessary tea, and completely necessary news. She brought him a month's worth of newspapers, and he followed his friends through their newly organised lives.

He watched from a distance as they allowed themselves to heal.

Meanwhile, he didn't sleep, not really. His mind had a tendency to bring him back to the place of dark, twisty, demented, so he preferred to just stay awake. After six months of pure exhaustion, surviving on way too much caffeine, his body had just adapted. Now, he could get by on two or three hours, and the short cat naps he could manage when the sun was bright and flooded the cottage.

He went to every single funeral. He went to more funerals in that first month than Harry, Ron, Hermione; more even than Neville, who went to more of them than the others. Draco knew this because he was at every single one, but he stood in the back, wearing a glamour and hiding from view. He didn't say anything to anyone, and he steered clear of Aurors by not staying until the end. He stayed, each time, until after the loved ones had spoken. Then he left. It hurt, and he spent that first month in a state of almost constant anguish. The tears he cried made no sound, and the grief torn from his lips was silent and horrible.

Once the funerals were over, the trials began. They were harder to sneak into, although they were public at the request of the new Minister for Magic. But he couldn't get into the Ministry buildings with a glamour on, and Polyjuice seemed a tad dramatic. So he went a few times, when the case was big, and he could blend into the crowd of people that flooded the public gallery. He was there when the trial for the Alecto and Amycus Carrow was decided within 20 minutes. He was there when Griphook, the duplicitous goblin's, was not.

Most importantly, however, he was there when Lucius Malfoy was sentenced to 25 years in Azkaban, considered a very lenient sentence for housing the Dark Lord, plotting multiple murders, and having possibly attempted to kill minors (though even Draco knew the proof on that was a little shaky). He should have been given The Kiss. Draco went home that evening with a tightness in his chest that went away- and did not return- after he drank a whole bottle of very expensive gin.

On the day he turned 19, one year and two months after the end of the battle, Hermione showed up with a rather hilariously green cake.

And a letter.

He opened it and found that it was not from Luna, or Neville, as he had expected. Instead, he found Harry's ridiculously childish scrawl. He looked up at Hermione questioningly.

"Don't ask me," she said, holding up her hands. "I swore not to read it."

He put the letter down on the shelf and sighed.

"Draco," Hermione tried, "Come home. For your birthday? I can't stay, but you can come home with me and we'll all go out and do dinner tonight. Just you and I, if you aren't ready to see everyone."

"Hermione, must we do this every visit?" Draco sighed in exasperation.

"Yup. Until you come home," she responded firmly. "And I think it should be today."

"You'll be late for class if you don't leave soon," Draco said, crossing his arms and matching her stubbornness.

"Oh, fine," Hermione said, bundling him into a hug anyway. "At least I can say I tried. You can write back to him, if you want. Just send it to me, and I'll forward it."

"I won't," Draco said, hugging her back. She sighed in exasperation.

Hermione looked at him carefully, "Promise me you'll go outside today, D?"

"Always, 'Mione. Always," Draco said, smiling.

"Happy birthday, git."

"Thanks, lovely girl," he said, smiling. "Go, or you'll lose your punctuality award."

* * *

Draco went about his day. He ate a lush breakfast, went for a walk, wandered into town to explore the tiny gallery again, and bought himself a new book. The whole time, the only thing he could think about was the letter that was propped up against his bookshelf in the cottage. Finally, just before supper, he gave up pretending he wasn't going to read it and sat down. The note was hardly shocking, and it almost made Draco sad, because the predictability of Potter was so very comforting;

_Dear Draco,_

_Sorry this letter's taken so long. I've tried to write it a million times. You're really lucky Hermione found you first, you know that right? She's the only one that will actually keep your hideaway a secret. She claims you made her swear a Fidelius, but I'm pretty sure she's keeping it a secret just because it's you._

_I wish you would come home, D. Bet you weren't expecting that, were you? But I do. And so do Nev and Lu. We just miss you. But there are more important things than that, too. Draco, there's a story you don't know, and I need to tell you. You need me to tell you. It's about Snape. And Dumbledore. And the war in general, really. There's so much I should have just told you right from the start. It would have made things so much easier. And harder._

_Fuck. Just like everything, hey? I don't really sleep much these days. I sometimes question how we are 19 and have survived all that we have. We are just supposed to keep living, aren't we?_

_Speaking of which, there's stuff. Maybe you already know, actually. I've taken an Auror position. Ron too. And Neville is going to finish his Herbology Masters and then join too, work in the lab._

_Also, Ginny and I are getting married. Not until next year, but I really hope you'll be there. It's weird, to know I haven't even been able to ask you how you feel about her. We always used to tell each other everything first. I was the first one to know about Neville, properly. I want to know…oh, never mind._

_Hermione and Ron are still pretty sappy; 'spect Ron'll get up the nerve to ask her soon. It's weird, the way they sort of found each other that year. Neville keeps trying to convince everyone he's fine with Luna travelling, but we don't think he is, really. He's so sad some days._

_I guess we all are._

_I checked in with your mum the other day; she's doing as well as can be expected. She's still living with Andromeda, and she seems to know where you are as well (since she's your mum, I'll let that one go). She says you write. She's seems more rested than she used to. Healthier._

_I know you were at the funerals. I didn't say anything, but I saw you, at Fred's. In the back. And we both know you went to them all, because you are Draco. If you need to talk, you can write me. I'm not Hermione. I miss you, and I want you to come home, but I know you- we won't convince you until you are ready._

_Do it anyway, hey?_

_-Harry_

By the end of the letter, he felt like he'd been sucker punched. He'd assumed Hermione was being Hermione in her attempts to get him to come to England, yet here was Harry, trying to bridge the gap between them too. He felt small and silly and miserable.

Yet, he didn't go home.

Frankly, now that a year had passed, he wasn't sure why he was holding onto the hiding. He'd received a letter from the Ministry granting him immunity for crimes committed before he was 17. Which meant he would avoid trial, and there was no real hazard in going back to England, at least legally. He didn't know what the wizarding world felt about Death Eaters now, or about the Malfoys. He didn't know because he wasn't there.

And that may have been the actual problem. He was still ashamed. So much shame had been coursing through his body for so many years that he wasn't ready to face the honest forgiveness of his Gryffindors.

* * *

Unsurprisingly, Draco Malfoy hiding in the Pyrenees did not stop things in England from moving forward.

Neville knew, technically, that Hermione probably wasn't lying when she said that Draco was fine. That he was safe. And it was possible that _technically_ , the real problem was that Luna was gone too. And as per usual, as much as the others tried to take care of him, the loss of his Shadow Trio was hitting Neville hard; in the place where these things always hit him hard. The place where he felt abandoned and alone, and was completely unsurprised. It didn't help that the freaking papers wouldn't leave him alone.

"It's your own fault," Ginny would say. "You got hot."

Neville always tried to laugh when Ginny would try to make him feel better, if only because he was grateful. Her place in their little group had significantly improved the amount of attention he received, and he was pretty sure that without Ginny, he'd have sunk so far down into his own misery that he wouldn't have gone back to school, wouldn't now be finishing a paper for the sole purpose of getting a wonderful position in the Ministry. A position he didn't really _want_ , but that was beside the point.

In some ways, Draco disappearing right after the Battle had probably been the best thing that had happened, since Neville wasn't sure what he would have done to Draco near the end there. They all knew more now, and even he had forgiven Draco. He wouldn't have been able to without the distance.

He still doubted if that was why Draco had left. He suspected it had more to do with the underlying cowardice that was Draco Malfoy's greatest weakness. Neville tried to stay angry about that, but two years was a long time to stay mad, and the energy required to do it was slowly dying.

As the summer birthdays came around on in their twentieth year, Neville and Harry found themselves in same pub they had been in for the past three years, getting very drunk and avoiding the press.

"Do you think eventually, we are going to have to stop doing this?" Harry was asking, fiddling with his cider bottle and not looking at Neville.

"Maybe, but for now, nope," Neville replied.

Harry smirked, then grew serious again, "Did we already drink one for D?"

"Yeah, but we can have another," Neville raised his glass. "Did you invite Gin? If this is supposed to be 'summer birthday drinks', she should be here too."

"I tried," said Harry, smiling fondly. "She seemed to think we needed a lads night."

"Or really...Do we?"

"Dunno," Harry tried to look aloof, failing miserably because he was Harry Potter, and wore his emotions in every glance. "Anything you need to tell me? You know, between us _lads_?"

"Shut it. You know there isn't," Neville replied, feeling his cheeks heat anyway.

"So," Harry said, gesturing with his beer, "Ron was exaggerating when he said that your date with Ms. Hannah Abbott had you coming home grinning like a loon?"

"Look, we had a nice time," Neville said, refusing to give in to his smile. "That's all I'm saying."

Harry's face suddenly grew serious.

"I'm not going to keep teasing you, Nev. I know these past few years have been tough…tougher for you, maybe. Draco-"

"Is not here to argue with me about going out with Hannah," Neville interrupted firmly.

"So we're still not talking about you and Draco?"

"We were fifteen Harry. It's been a long time since then," Neville said, adamant about dropping the subject. "We aren't talking about it because we don't have anything to talk about."

"Fine," Harry sighed. "Fine. Do you want to talk about the fact that Ron finally bought a ring instead?"

"What!?" Neville shouted, making three other people turn. "Well, about time isn't it! When's he gonna do it?"

"Hearing rumours it might be tonight. But I'd bet a galleon or two that he chickens out a few times before he actually does it."

Neville and Harry laughed heartily at the fearless Ron Weasley's one weakness; his utter terror and admiration for Hermione Granger. Their relationship was a constant source of amusement to everyone except the two of them, but it was a loving joke. They were happy, and free to be happy. Every relationship in this reorganised world made all of the people who'd lived through the battle pretty happy, frankly.

"Speaking of rings," Neville questioned suddenly. "Ginny says you two have decided to postpone."

He paused when Harry looked sheepish.

"Again."

"Yes," Harry grimaced, "Well."

"What's the excuse this time, Hare?"

"I could lie to you," Harry conceded, "I could tell you the reason that we've been giving people, about training and schedules. But you know why."

"It doesn't seem right, that he gets to control you like that, even from far away," Neville Chided. He had the ludicrous feeling that Harry needed a hug. But they weren't 11, and they were in a Muggle pub, and he stopped himself without really knowing why.

"Yeah, no it doesn't. But," Harry said, sighing.

"Yeah, I know. I'd probably be the same."

"He's one of us. He should be there. He should be standing up with me."

"And if he never comes home?" Neville said softly. "You can't make Ginny wait forever."

"Ginny wouldn't," Harry laughed. "It's just…Hermione said last month that she thinks-"

"Not this again," Neville said, genuinely angry now. "Harry, Hermione is not a neutral party in this. You know she isn't. Yes, she loves Ron, and everything. But-"

"I know. You're right. I promised Ginny this was the last time."

"Good."

"Yup."

Neville let it lie, and offered his bottle for another toast. They both got another drink, and spent hours more avoiding their real problems.

Meanwhile, at home, Ron did actually propose to Hermione, despite his friend's' lack of faith. And the lack of faith from Hermione. She knew he was getting the ring- from his mum, a gorgeous old thing, some sort of heirloom- yet was genuinely surprised when Ron got down on a knee while she was washing up from their curry.

Surprised, and a bit hesitant, which luckily, Ron read as nerves. She loved him, but Marriage at Twenty? It had never been in her plans. Still, she felt herself tear up, and she felt herself nod, and by the end of the evening, she was in fact very happy. Gazing down at the emeralds and filigree, she realised that she was very, very happy.

And for the first time in a very long time, she decided that was going to just be enough.

* * *

In a flurry of time, Summer turned to Fall again. Ginny turned 19, and was recruited to the Harpies. Hannah and Neville went on many more dates, and finally told their friends that they were 'dating, alright. Now leave it'.

Harry and Ginny set a new date of their own, for early in the new year, when the Snow would still be in Scotland and they could pretend things were totally normal. Hermione and Ron decided to do the next Summer instead. It gave people time between events. No one told the press these dates, but somehow, Draco still read them in the papers that he got from Hermione during her very short September visit. The entire thing had gone something like; 'Are you coming home?', 'No.', 'Fine. Here are the letters and the papers.', 'Fine.', 'I'll see you in October.', 'See you.'

Hermione hadn't seemed angry, not really. Just resigned. Draco stood looking out his front stoop for a long time after she had Apparated away. And a tiny seed of frustration lodged itself in the back of his throat. He read Harry's letter, which just said, 'Wedding is in January. COME. HOME.' and Ron's, which said basically the same.

And then, in the same envelope as Ron's note, he found a tiny scrap of very old parchment. He pulled it out carefully. Scribbled on it, in careful, ink-and-quill writing from a bygone era, were the simplest and most complicated three words he'd ever read;

_\- Corridor. Usual spot._

There were a million things in his mind all at once, but the first and only one that mattered was that Neville Longbottom had finally broken his silence.

Draco sat down every day in the next two months to try and form the words needed to respond. He wrote a hundred letters, and a thousand apologies, and he sent absolutely none of them. The apology he owed the Gryffindors was not one that could be sent in a letter, but the tiny seed of an idea in his mind was just a baby. And he wasn't sure how to nurture it.

Hermione did not turn up in October. A large package arrived by Muggle post, apologising and explaining that the month had been a hard one. He wrote back to say it was okay, that he understood, but he didn't send the letter.

In November, when the package turned up instead of Hermione again, he sighed but still didn't begrudge her anything. He was the one being ridiculous. She had just been living her life. He'd had her attention for far longer than he deserved.

Still, when the 15th of December carried with it a whoosh and a knock, he nearly cried with relief. He ran to the door and flung it open, and Hermione was standing there, soaking and grumbling, and carrying a large parcel.

"Well, move Draco. It's freezing," she groaned as she pushed past him. "Only you would live in the south of France and choose the bloody great _mountains_ instead of the seashore."

He looked at Hermione, as she fluttered around the kitchen, making him tea without asking if he wanted tea. He looked at her objectively for the first time ever. He had always overlooked Hermione. It was easy to overlook Hermione when she was there; angrily taking care of you, opposing all your initial ideas until you came up with better ones. Pretending she was mad at you when she was secretly proud. It was both her fault, and her greatest gift, that she had worked out how to take care of messy Gryffindors and stubborn Slytherins without any other party even realizing they were being cared for.

He looked at her now, her hair covered in still melting snow, cheeks ruddy from the cold. She had a muggle jumper on, in a strange, blue-tinted-green that made her look all glowy. She was more...curved then he remembered, hips jutting comfortably over the end of the jumper and the start of her jeans. He didn't know, exactly, when her hair had stopped seeming bushy to him. Or when her fluid movements had started seeming intriguing. She was far more graceful these days. He hadn't stopped to appreciate it.

Closing the door gently, he walked over to her in the kitchen, pulled her away from the cups she held and wrapped her in his arms. The embrace was long overdue. She startled at first, but he pulled her closer and sighed into her hair.

"Hermione," Draco said very quietly. "I'm sorry."

She didn't respond, but she did hug him back, and he took that as a good sign. When she finally pulled away, Draco made a snap judgement that he instantly regretted and placed a kiss on her lips. She backed away as though she had been shot.

"Draco!" Hermione gasped.

"I know, I'm sorry, I wasn't-"

"Ron!" she said, ignoring him.

"I know, I know. I don't know what I was-"

"Yeah, well, I do," Hermione said shrilly, folding her arms and managing to look once again like her thirteen year old self. "You're lonely, Draco Malfoy. And for good reason. You've turned yourself into a bloody hermit in this cottage and-"

"I'm not a hermit. I see people," Draco said defensively, shoving his hands in his trousers and taking a step back from Hermione again. She was still very scary when angry.

"Not. The. Point. Draco, what the hell?"

He mumbled. And Hermione, against all odds, started laughing. It was a soft sound at first, but soon, she was laughing her great, giant, fourth-year laugh and Draco was looking up with confused shock. Was she laughing at him?

"You great bloody git, Draco Malfoy," Hermione said finally through gasps of air. "If you only knew…"

"What? What is so funny?"

"If you had done that in school, I'd have literally swooned," she said, breaking into laughter again. "I had the greatest crush on you, you stupid Slytherin."

Draco's head tilted to the side, "Did you?"

"Yes! And it was very, very obvious, by the way," she said, stepping forward to clap his shoulder. "But somebody was too busy with his little _boy crush_ to even notice."

Draco stood there, slightly agape, and shook his head, "I'm sorry, Hermione."

"Yes, you said that," she said turning back to the kettle. "So, I guess that's done then. But you really should know; I love Ron. We are happy. You...well, you need to come home. Are you coming home, Draco?"

She stirred the tea, and she didn't look at him, and for a second, he didn't answer, which made her turn around. She raised her eyebrow at him.

And softly, but softly, in his very quiet voice, Draco Malfoy said, 'Yes.'

* * *

To her credit, Hermione didn't make a big fuss. They drank their tea, and she asked him if he was packed. Surprisingly, he was. The tiny seed of the idea 'return to England' had become a full-fledged thing as the Snow had fallen, and he was content to not pretend that he hadn't been thinking about it for months.

Finally, an hour or so later, they Apparated together from the hills of the mountain, with Hermione holding his hand tightly as she side-alonged him to her normal route. It took three jumps to get home, and Draco dreaded every single one.

When they were standing in front of an unassuming Victorian, however, he felt like he might actually be sick.

"Oh for goodness sake, D. Have you not believed any of the letters?" Hermione said, shaking her head at him. "They are going to be pleased to see you. Let's go."

"They are seriously all in there?" Draco said, panicking for real.

"Yes," Hermione said, suddenly patient again. "It's the school holidays, so Harry and Ron are off classes. Neville doesn't work normal people hours, so he's home too. And Ginny is just back from her latest tour, so she may be home or she may be at the pitch doing final drills before they break up for Christmas. And Luna is somewhere in Germany, sending very odd postcards and confusing us all. Let's go. I hate being cold."

"You've always hated being cold," Draco said for absolutely no reason.

"Yes, very well observed. Inside. Now."

And Draco's feet went completely robotic as he went up the steps. As Hermione opened the door. As she called into the entryway that she was home.

"Guys?" she said a little louder when Draco stopped moving completely. "Think I'm going to need a little help!"

There was a smattering of noise from all directions; heavy footfalls on the stairs which he instantly recognised as Ron, running from the direction of a swinging door down the corridor which were definitely Harry, and a soft padding from far too close to his left elbow, too quiet and unassuming to be anyone but Neville.

Oddly, Ron reacted first. Or maybe not odd. Ron had always been the loud one, and the one who didn't always read the situation in quite the same way as everyone else. It was in moments like these that Draco very much appreciated that version of Ronald Weasley.

"DRACO!" he boomed from just above them on the last three steps. "Draco BLOODY Malfoy. HARRY, LOOK!"

"Yeah, thanks Ron. The whole neighbourhood is now aware," Harry said, moving cautiously towards Hermione and Draco.

He finally grinned slowly.

"Hey, D."

"Hey, Hare."

"Alright?"

"Yeah. You?"

"Yeah."

Hermione looked at the three of them, threw her hands in the air, and sighed dramatically.

"BLOODY BOYS," she shouted as she stomped past a still beaming Ron, "Neville, deal with this, would you? I'm going to put dry clothes on, and then I expect tea."

Draco forced himself to turn to his left, toward the shadow, the owner of the last set of footsteps, the force of gravity that barely let him move.

And sure enough, there was Neville Longbottom, glare fixed, and mouth silent.

Except that Neville was only just barely still Neville. Draco looked at the terse and hostile expression on his former boyfriend's face, and felt his mouth go dry. Neville Longbottom had shoulders. And a tan. He was muscled beneath his rolled up sleeves, his hands currently worrying the hem of his shirt. He had short, wild hair that Draco instantly wanted to feel. He took an instinctive step back; he wasn't sure if it was to stop himself moving forward, or to protect him from the weird, angry look that Neville currently wore. Both seemed like very good reasons.

Suddenly, though, Draco was saved from having to say anything, because his arms were full of Harry Potter. Who had chosen that moment to remember he was a Gryffindor, and had bounded forward to embrace Draco in an unrestrained and emotional hug. Soon, Ron had joined him, and Draco was almost overpowered by their exuberant grasp. He laughed sort of desperately despite himself, because his friends still laughed the same and smelt the same, and were treating him, against all odds, the same.

He watched Neville over the top of Harry's head. Watched as Neville folded his arms, turned on his heel, and walked out of view.

"He's uh.…" Harry tried, noticing Draco's face as he pulled back. "He's still trying to…"

"It's okay," Draco said softly. "He doesn't have to forgive me."

"Oh no, that isn't it," Ron said. "He's forgiven you. I actually think he did before anyone else, mate. It's just…"

"Complicated," Draco finished.

"Er, yeah. We need to talk," Harry said, gesturing toward the swinging door that turned out to be the kitchen.

"I'll get the glasses. This is sort of a, er, whiskey talk," Ron said, reaching high as Hermione came back in the room. She looked between them.

"So no Nev, huh?" she said carefully.

"Not yet," Harry said, watching Draco from the corner of his eye in what Draco was sure he thought was a subtle way. Clearly, Auror training had not managed to create a Stealth Harry Potter, "He'll come round, though."

"Mhmm," Hermione nodded unconvincingly.

The story they proceeded to tell him was...well, unbelievable really. Words like _Horcrux_ were not thrown around in polite conversation, even in Death Eater circles, and the fact that everything he had thought he had known about Snape being wrong was a lot to digest. And made him very, very drunk. Later, much later, as he lay in a borrowed bed, he was still shaking his head in disbelief. At Snape, at Dumbledore, at a story that both made no sense and explained literally everything.

And he let his drunken head wallow in the stupidity of wasting three years being an idiot. Then he forgave himself, and fell into a deep, warm, dreamless sleep.

When he finally wandered downstairs the next morning, it was late. He had taken a long time to wake up, reorient, sort out how to go down and pretend that it was normal that he was in England, let alone in _their_ house.

Of course, he had taken so long to do so that the house was empty by the time he hit the kitchen. He made himself tea, and walked out into the solarium he found off the back. The place was warm and sunny despite the winter month, and it reeked of Neville. In one corner, he saw a fully grown dirigible plum plant; he'd never seen one at maturity. The rest of the room was just as full of plants, and squashy chairs that had clearly been rummaged from many places. The _Prophet_ sat on the arm of one chair, and he settled in and read the whole thing. It was nearing noon when he heard a banging noise from above him, and the solarium door opened.

Neville stood on the landing looking down at him. Draco took a breath as though to speak, and couldn't continue.

"Don't you dare apologise, Draco Malfoy," Neville said.

"Um….okay," Draco paused, searching for different words. Finally, he just said, "Hi, Nev."

"Hi? That's what you're going with?" Neville scoffed.

"You said I couldn't apologise."

"Right," Neville said, sighing. "Are you staying here now then?"

"Just for a few days, until I can get in touch with my mum," he replied. "Unless, you need me not to?"

"What?" Neville snapped. "God, Draco. I am not kicking you out. I'm not- It's not…"

"So, it's okay if I stay until next week?"

"I'm dating Hannah. Abbott. Do you remember her from school? Anyway. I am."

"Good, Neville," Draco replied, smiling. "I'm really glad."

"Are you?" Neville said carefully. "Are you, Draco?"

They stared at each other silently for a second. Neville's hands fell to his sides, and he suddenly looked very, very small.

"Nev," Draco whispered. "I _am_ sorry-"

"Draco-"

"No wait, let me," he started again. "I'm sorry, but not about what you think. I'm not sorry I left. I'm not sorry I stayed away. I needed that. And I'm not sorry for the Battle- I did what I could, and I'm still alive, and it hurt, but it didn't hurt any more than it hurt anyone."

He took a deep breath. Neville didn't answer, but he was staring Draco down, and that felt like enough for right now.

"I _am_ sorry, though, that I didn't do a better job being your friend. That I didn't...love you, not the right way. That I let us fall apart and didn't trust you enough."

Neville took one step down, and Draco looked down.

"I don't regret that. Us," Neville said.

"Good. Me either," Draco replied, looking back up.

"Draco, you know what?" Neville said, stepping forward until he stood right in front of him. "I _was_ mad at you. For a really, really long time."

"I know," Draco whispered.

"We were all hurting, so much. And you just disappeared? How fucking dare you, right? Classic Slytherin, self-preservation first. But, then you stayed away. And after a while, the anger got to be a lot. And so I started thinking instead, and I've realised. It wasn't that simple. You weren't protecting yourself, you thought you were protecting _us_. By being gone, and being someone you thought we needed. You've always done that, haven't you?"

Draco started to reply, but Neville interrupted him and kept talking.

"It's an interesting strategy. I understand it, almost. But you know what? You screwed up, Draco? You started way too late. The only way that it would have worked would've been to _never_ let anyone in. Never talk to Harry on the train. Never hang out in our common room. If you hadn't done those things, who knows what would have happened. During the war. Before. Who knows if you'd have even survived?"

Draco looked at Neville.

"So," he continued. "You don't understand, Draco, why you are here right now, or why you've been forgiven for everything. But the reason is so simple that you're just completely missing it. The reason, Draco, is that we _love_ you. We are your friends. And at the end of the day, we know you too well to know that you have suffered as much as any of us, and in many ways, more."

"Neville-"

"Which is to say," Neville continued, sitting down in the chair across from Draco, "You stay here as long as you need. Harry bought this house, and it's huge. Because he wanted room for all of us, his whole family."

Neville stopped talking, took the paper from where it had fallen into Draco's lap, and said nothing more. Draco just stared at the back page. For long moments, they sat in silence. Neville had apparently spoken his peace, and he was done. Draco didn't respond. He had nothing to say in response. Nothing, except-

"You shouldn't be dating Hannah Abbott."

Neville chuckled from behind the paper, and typically, didn't react to the ridiculously over the top statement by his Slytherin Best Friend. He just kept reading. For five minutes, he said nothing. Then, ever so lightly, betraying no emotion and still reading, he replied.

"Oh yeah? Guess you'll have to prove it to me, Ferret Face."

* * *

The next two days were ridiculous. He saw his mother, who seemed unsurprised to see him and extremely content. Happy, almost. Her sister, Andromeda, made a much bigger fuss over him than Narcissa. The lunch he had at her house was made better by the hilarious presence of one Teddy Lupin. Draco had been dreading meeting his cousin, considering how his parents had died. But Teddy was beautiful and bright, a sunny three year old whose hair changed on a whim and who instantly took to Draco like they had been friends for years. His mother sat smiling wanly at him the entire time, and when he left, she pressed fifty Galleons into his hand and told him to buy some Christmas gifts. He smiled at her, and pressed kiss to her cheek, and promised to come back soon.

"Draco," she had said. "I am glad you're safe."

The day after that, he was in the kitchen in the early afternoon, cooking a bizarre dinner that he'd concocted from the things that were already in the house when the doorbell rang. And he immediately freaked out. 

Draco Malfoy wasn't sure that he'd ever actually _heard_ a doorbell. He knew, in a loose and meaningless way, what the sound was, but he was scared half to death when the loud, old fashioned bell rang out. He stood staring at the door for a few minutes, a dishrag over his shoulder and his wand out. Finally, the door swung open on it's own, the bottom hinge creaking as always, and a silver haired girl in bright fuchsia robes was laughing at him from the other side.

"Sorry, Draco," Luna said. "Did I frighten you? I didn't think. Then I remembered it might only be you home- er, Draco?"

He stared at her for a moment longer before his wand hit the floor and he was hugging her. He may have also started crying.

"Draco," Luna said gently. "The wards. You have to invite me in."

"Oh, Lu. Thank Merlin," he said. "Come inside."

For the next three hours, Luna and Draco caught up, and whatever Draco had been trying to make lay forgotten on the counter. When the others got home that evening, there was such excitement that no one noticed, and Draco only had to look at Hermione once to convey his thanks for owling Luna.

Before he knew it, they were all traipsing off to the pub. Ginny showed up with Hannah a little while later, and considering they had all been drinking for at least two hours by that point, Draco was barely embarrassed when he welcomed them like old friends. Booze and Nostalgia, when mixed with Christmas Spirit and Homecomings were a dangerous mix.

Much to his chagrin, Hannah was wonderful and he instantly liked her. She was quick and witty, and yet unfailingly kind. She slotted perfectly into their little ragtag group and he hated her just a little bit for filling his place better than he had ever filled it himself. She also convinced him immediately that he was redundant; she would take care of Neville, and love him better, and that made him happy enough to let go.

When they all stumbled back to the house early the next morning, he fell into his guest bed and looked around for the first time; he took note of the old fashioned four poster, with green curtains and expensive, dark sheets. He looked at the walls and found they were a soft, light grey. The one piece of art on the wall was an abstract in disturbingly underwater-like colours.

"Well, shit," he said to the empty room. "This _is_ my room, isn't it?"

He fell asleep laughing.

* * *

Christmas day dawned bright and sunny, despite being bitterly cold for London. It had been two weeks since he'd come back to England, and he was still adjusting to the early dark and the rainy skies. The sun felt like a gift he hadn't earned, and he needed it when, three hours later, the house was full of people. And when he thought about 'full', he realised he had never really understood that word. Because Harry Potter's Christmas Lunch needed a new definition; this house was now an entirely different level of _full_.

Suddenly, all the Weasleys were present; Molly and Arthur showed up first, discussing wedding plans with an already exasperated Ginny. Percy followed, bringing pudding and his latest published paper. He was followed by Bill and Fleur, George and his girlfriend Alicia, and a jovially solo Charlie, all in one very loud rush.

Next, Luna's boyfriend Rolf sheepishly appeared, holding a giant bag of gifts and looking as though he'd rather be anywhere else, though preferably, on a quiet mountainside looking for Hornwartlis. He was perfect, and Luna was effervescent as she took him inside and introduced anyone. Draco squeezed her hand in immediate approval, and Luna, for the first time ever in his presence, blushed.

When Hannah turned up at the same time as Hermione's parents, Draco was convinced they were out of space. Even the magically transformed lounge was looking squashed, and yet the doorbell rang again. Used to it now, Draco opened it with amusement, only to find Narcissa, Andromeda, and a squirming Teddy on the other side.

"Mother!" Draco exclaimed.

"Happy Christmas, darling. May we come in?"

"Of course!" he said, embracing her past his surprise and ushering them into the packed lounge, where seats were immediately found, and the toddler was loosed upon the room full of joyful people and brightly coloured bags.

Draco found Harry standing at the door looking so pleased with himself that Draco laughed.

"You absolute nutter," he said to his friend. "There are _twenty one_ people here for Christmas lunch."

"I know," Harry beamed at him. "Isn't it wonderful."

Draco looked in at the laughing and cheer, at the gifts and the warmth. He was disturbingly close to crying. He looked back at Harry, and nodded. Harry clapped him on the back and ushered him into the room.

"Right, you lot!" Harry shouted into the din. "It's the first Christmas all together in the house, and in honour of Ginny and I being married in less than a month, I have decided we do presents FIRST."

There was a general cheer, and a flurry of movement, and a stern word from Molly that had them all sitting back down sheepishly. She raised her wand, and flicked it lazily, and they all waited as the presents whizzed around the room and sorted them into neat little piles beside their respective recipients. Draco sat himself on the floor in a corner, and grew more and more emotional at the little piles that grew beside him.

General chaos ensued, with rushes of thank-yous and gasps of joy, and screams of glee from a very happy little boy, until not much was left but paper and tags and ribbons. Draco carefully opened all of his gifts, shocked each time they were perfect and thoughtful. He looked around, and watched everyone living so happily, and really couldn't help but think- rather cheesily- that he'd have been happy just being allowed to sit here and watch them.

"Holy, shit," Neville suddenly screamed.

"Neville!" Hermione hissed, "Teddy!"

"Sorry! Sorry...it's just. Draco...Where…"

Draco looked up, and suddenly felt extremely embarrassed. He wanted to hex Harry. If he'd known they were all going to open things together, he'd have never put that one under the tree.

"Er," he said quietly, not looking at anyone. "It's a long story, but...I mean, you'll want to get them in the ground soon, I think. The guy said, with the advances in the stasis charm, they could last three months, but it's getting close to-"

He stopped dead when he looked up. Everyone in the room was looking at him strangely, but he only managed to see Neville, staring open-mouthed, eyes glistening.

"What?" Draco said, wary in a well-practised way.

"Three months?" Hermione said. "You've known you were going to be here for Christmas for _three months_. Why? When did you decide?"

Draco gulped, and looked down again.

"Corridor," Neville whispered, "Usual place?"

Draco's head snapped back, and he just stared at him for a moment, then nodded.

Neville stood up and left the room, with great difficulty really, since he was on the other side of the room and there were a great number of people in the way of his exit.

"What was that all about?" Charlie asked a bit too loudly, and was immediately elbowed hard by George.

"Luna," Draco said desperately.

"Yes, yes. I'm going," she sighed, passing him and patting him on the head as she muttered, "You know, one day you are going to have to deal with these things yourselves, you two."

Hermione walked over to Neville's spot and picked up the small, magically warmed box. Nestled inside was a handful of bright red seeds. She looked at Draco. Then back at the box.

"Bavarian Singing Rowan," she mused.

"Yeah," Draco muttered.

Silence fell uncomfortably, and a small bell went off in the broken conversation.

"Everyone," Harry muttered. "Lunch in five."

Nothing more was said as the crowd moved into the kitchen, crowded around a mishmash of tables, eating way too much and pulling crackers and laughing. Neville and Luna sat down only a few minutes late, and nothing unusual happened. When, after eating, Molly suggested they listen to the radio, the Weasley boys groaned and announced they were going out to play a game of keepers, and all the kids followed suit, leaving Arthur, Narcissa, and Andromeda with Molly, and Teddy fast asleep on Narcissa's chest.

Draco was watching as the boys all conjured brooms and a quaffle, and played a foot off the ground. Suddenly, he felt a warm weight at his side. Leaning into it, he startled slightly when the weight moved slightly to the left. Not one of his, then, was his only thought before turning his head.

"Oh, Hannah. Sorry," he said.

"What? Oh, no...I'm sorry. You guys are all very clingy. I'm not used to it yet."

"Sorry about earlier, too. It must be confusing, coming into this chaos without all the backstory."

"Yes. A bit. But it's fine. It's been fun."

He nodded. He didn't exactly know what to say to her. Which, apparently was not why she was here.

"So," she continued. "Are you going to tell him, or what?"

"What?" Draco said, watching the makeshift pitch again. "Tell who what?"

"Neville. You going to tell him that you're in love with him? Or _still_ in love with him? Or whatever?"

"Hannah, you don't have to worry about-"

"Malfoy," she laughed. "I'm not _worried_ about you. I'm telling you that you should tell him. It's fine. We've only been together a few months, and I think...well, we both got what we needed, yeah? But it's you. It's been you for a long time. Longer than he told me, I think."

Draco just looked at her side long and she patted his arm.

"So tell him," she said, looking out at the game. "Maybe, you know, wait until after Christmas and everything, but, yeah. Don't wait too long. He's not so sure of himself, is he? Even now. Might miss the boat if you wait too long."

For the millionth time in the last two weeks, Draco Malfoy was dumbfounded. Which made it the perfect time for George to fall off his broom and start screaming about fouls to the 'ref', a bewildered looking Neville. Who chose that moment to look up and beam a giant smile at Draco and Hannah, it's direction unclear as he shook his head and called 'no point' at the angry players.

"Yeah," he finally said. "Yeah, Hannah. I will."

* * *

**NINETEEN YEARS LATER**

On an innocuous Sunday night, in late August, one entire family gathered at the Burrow. There were too many kids to count, and too many slightly exhausted adults to care. They ran amok in the garden, and there was such an air of happy contentment and safety that no one bothered to stop them.

Ginny and Hermione sat at the kitchen table, arguing over some tax bill, while Ron scrambled about at the cooker. Molly had long since started making the others take turns with dinner, although she was rarely actually out of the kitchen for long. Ron had turned into the best cook of anyone, and even though they technically took turns, Ron had a suspicious tendency of ending up in charge.

Time had passed in a languid and completely normal way; there had been good years, and bad years, and years in between that no one could remember much about.

Ginny and Harry had morphed into a formidable couple, excellent parents, with two high powered careers and three kids between them. Harry picked up where Ginny left off to go flying with the Harpies, and she moved to the reserves to be home more when his cases got to be too much. They were in perfect balance, and the beauty that fell into their marriage was comfortable and enviable, and no one was surprised. James Sirius fell into their lives early on, and for the first couple of years, he was spoiled to no end. Even Teddy, who was only five at the time, had been pretty excited by the baby. When Rose and Albus came along two years later, James hadn't adjusted well. When, just a few short months later, Scorpius was born, he had given up on being the special one and instead became both the tormenter of all, and fiercely protective of his brother and cousins.

Scorpius made Draco's life; not better, just made it, entirely. He'd felt small and insignificant, both pointless and completely essential, the second the baby was in his arms. Hannah, who had volunteered immediately when she'd heard they were looking for a surrogate, was the perfect birthmother. Present and kind, yet distant without being asked. They had whole heartedly agreed. And had volunteered again when they'd decided to have Francesca two years later.

He and Neville joked that they had no idea which kid was whose, but it was a pointless joke. There was no mistaking the blond hair or Malfoy nose on Scorpius, nor was it hard to connect the subtle wave in Frankie's dark hair, or her signature Longbottom teeth that would need seeing to one day soon. He loved them both equally, regardless, and they both had Hannah's bright green eyes, which was strange and wonderful.

Hugo rounded out the new set of trouble makers, almost a year after Lily and Frankie, just a little late to the party, never really to catch up. Hermione had been resistant to the second child, but Draco figured what had actually happened was just a case of Weasley virility. Still, Hugo was hilarious and whip-smart, and the world would not have been in the same without him there.

The cousins- always including Scorpius and Frankie, without question- grew up close, with weekly dinners and playdates and birthday parties. When they started going off to Hogwarts, with Teddy disappearing from their ranks first and maintaining his 'mysterious older cousin' status, the others had begun to cling to every story their parents would give them of their school days. Yet, the peace they felt, the closeness, it didn't fade.

And so, even at their very-close-to-teenage ages, the children played now at the end of the garden, the same game that had been going on for months, some complicated imagination game with rules that the adults could not fathom. Only Teddy and James were conspicuously absent, and no one questioned that either. They had likely stolen away to the other side of the orchard to fly without having to chaperone small children on brooms.

As the sun was setting, and the dishes were cleared, Draco pulled a chair to the edge of the tent. There were rumblings about some Quidditch, but he was lethargic and nostalgic, and not really willing to join in. He was staring out at the kids playing when suddenly, Hermione was in his lap.

"Whatcha doing, grumpy old man?" she said, kicking out to balance the chair.

"Being sappy and nostalgic," he smiled. "Don't tell people."

Hermione mimed zipping her lips.

"Do you ever watch them and just think," he said, pointing at Hugo, who was bouncing up and down trying to pull attention to his idea, "It's so different for them."

"I should fucking hope so," Hermione whispered. "We fought a literal war for them, D."

She leaned back against him comfortably and he wrapped an arm around her. It wasn't helping with the nostalgia at all, having her here being so very Hermione.

"You haven't called me 'D' in years," he said slowly.

"I know," she said, turning slightly to look at him out the corner of her eye. "Well, it's not you anymore, is it?"

He snorted, "Oh really, who am I then?"

Hermione's hands went up in a grand gesture, "You are Draco Abraxas, Proud Heir to the Noble House of Malfoy.

"Ugh, no," he cringed, "Stop."

"It's true, it was in the papers. Just last week."

"It's been nearly 25 years!" he said, scrubbing his hand with his free hand. "How can they still care about us?"

"Dunno," Hermione replied, patting his head carefully. "But, the amicable union of the House of Malfoy and the House of Longbottom still causes a stir."

"Amicable?"

"Loving?"

"Oh stop, Weasley," he laughed

Hermione looked away. Even in the semi-darkness, not actually facing her, Draco felt the shift in her mood like a weight. He nudged her arm, not asking outright and yet asking all at once.

"He brought it up again," she finally whispered.

"What? When?"

"Yesterday."

"Why?"

"Dunno," Hermione replied, fiddling with a thread on her jumper. "Says he thinks I'm unhappy."

"Are you unhappy?"

"Not really…" Hermione paused. "I mean…It's weird, with all the kids in school. Can't imagine what'll be like next year when Hugo's the only one home all year. We…er, I…Think I'm working too much."

"So stop working so much."

"Draco! How could you say that," she huffed. "I have always been the working one. Why should I have to change that. What, is it because-"

"Hermione, God," he said, stopping her mid-sentence. "I am not telling you to stop working because you are a woman, or even because you are Hermione. I am telling you to spend more time working on your marriage. As a person who loves another person. That's all."

Hermione sighed and looked away, "Fine. You're right. I should."

She stopped talking, but Draco knew better. He just waited. Finally, she sighed again and said, "You two never have these problems."

"We have our problems," Draco assured her. "But yeah, I think we might have done all the drama stuff at 15, to be honest."

"It's stupid. We should just be happy."

"Would you be happier if you divorced?"

Hermione snapped her eyes around to look at him directly, which made him realise just how close she was to crying. Hermione Granger, though, was not a crier, and she seemed resolved not to right now either.

"I..." she started. "Maybe."

Draco nodded, "Then maybe you should talk to him properly. Talk to him like you talk to me."

She leaned back against him again and nodded.

"Trouble is," she said. "He's never quite gotten it. Not like you. I barely have to explain to you."

"He gets it, 'Mione, but sometimes you have to give I'm a bit more time than it takes me," Draco said, laughing lightly. "Maybe him asking you if you are unhappy is him saying _he's_ unhappy. Did you even ask? Or did you just get defensive about work."

"You already know the answer to that," she said stubbornly, and he laughed again.

They fell into a moment of comfortable, contemplative silence, Draco tracing small circles on the back of her arm.

"We won't love you any less, you know," he said, realising suddenly. "Either of you. And the kids will be fine. I think maybe... I just think maybe you need to talk."

Hermione nodded, but then pulled back.

"But we'll be the only ones who failed," she said.

"Failed at what?" Draco said vehemently. "Giving love a go, and finding happiness for 19 years? What failures are you seeing in two healthy and happy kids? In an extended family that still gets together every Sunday and still picks up strays. Hermione. Distant unhappiness isn't better."

Hermione sat up a little bit, turning again.

"Did you just convince me to divorce my husband?"

"No. I just said out loud the things that were already in your mind."

"Like always."

"Like always. Do you need me there when you talk to Ron?"

"Nope," she said. "Not if you are going to be there for the fallout."

"No more disappearing, you know that."

"Okay," Hermione said slowly. "I love you, Draco Malfoy. Thanks for being so….Draco-y."

"Anytime?"

He pulled her to standing, and they walked back to the tent with the others.

* * *

The next week, as they all gathered at the platform, Draco looked at Hermione, who smiled sadly and nodded. They would have time to talk, all together, later. Right now, there were six bouncing children all around them, and trunks and owls, and a bounding Teddy who grabbed Draco into a hard hug.

"Hey, Uncle Draco!" he shouted. "Hi Youngins!"

"Hey, Ted," Scorpius said, rolling his eyes. "Where'd you leave Victoire?"

Teddy glared at his cousin and ignored him, "Where's Uncle Nev?"

"He had to stay at the office...some sort of baby plant emergency," Scorpius said.

Draco smiled at Hermione and Harry.

"More Bavarian Singing Rowan?" Harry grinned back. "Seriously?"

"The old ones had new seedlings. We've barely seen him for weeks," Draco laughed. "Apparently, he's the only successful breeder in the UK."

"Classic Neville," Ron piped up, having just joined the conversation with the permanently moving Hugo.

"Guess it doesn't matter, huh?" Teddy said, patting Albus on the head. "What with there being no ickle first years this time round."

Albus scowled and ducked out of his cousin's grasp, calling behind him, "Come on, Scorp. Let's go find a good seat."

Scorpius gave his sister a giant hug, and she glared at him carefully before pulling him down and whispering something in his ear. Her brother grinned and nodded, and she smiled back. Draco just shook his head. The secrets between siblings were new to him; it had taken he and Neville years to stop panicking about it. Finally, Ron had been the deciding factor, explaining that they were just going to have to get used to it. It didn't stop the itch of wanting to know what they were saying, but he let it lie as Scorpius turned to say goodbye.

"Dad," he said seriously.

"Scorpius," Draco replied, the same mock serious tone carefully disguising his grin.

"You've remembered the rule about letters this year?"

"No more than once a week," Draco replied sheepishly.

"And that _doesn't_ mean that you can ask Da to write to me _for you."_

Draco pretended to be shocked, "But, what if there is really important news!?"

" _Dad_ ," Scorpius sighed.

Draco laughed, "Once a week. Got it."

He laughed as Scorpius deflated slightly, and hugged him close once more, "Bye, kid."

"Bye, parent. See you at Christmas."

"Stay out of trouble."

"No promises, Uncle Draco!" Albus called from over their shoulders, and Scorpius laughed, pulling his trunk behind him and waving.

"Well, chips anyone?" he said to the others as the boys all followed each other to the train, laughing and racing in general excitement, Rose walking more quietly and looking reserved as usual.

"I want to go to HOGWARTS," Hugo screamed.

"Soon, Huey," Frankie said soothingly, taking her cousin under her arm. "Lily and I will send you all sorts of sweets next year."

"We will," Lily added seriously, joining Frankie.

"It's not fair," Hugo pouted.

It really didn't help when all the grownups laughed at him simultaneously.

Hours later, full of chips and icecream, overly hyper and bound to annoy Neville, Frankie ran into the kitchen, where Draco knew he was just by the sheer amount of banging around happening. Clearly, Neville was doing what he referred to as 'cooking'.

"Da!" she shouted, making Neville fake a startle. " _Please_ tell me about how you met Dad? He won't tell the story."

Neville groaned, but it was the groan of a pleasant old man. _His_ pleasant old man. Draco knew that groan like he knew every other creak Nev made. It was comforting, like always, and he put a mischievous look on before he swung Frankie up from her armpits and put her on the counter, much to Neville's amusement. Before having kids, you would never have known how laid back Draco Malfoy could be. There was no boundary line of impropriety in his mind; Neville usually ended up doing the disciplining because Draco would just shrug his shoulders and say, 'they're only kids', which was entirely true and also entirely unhelpful. It would have annoyed Neville far sooner if it didn't lead to moments of completely adorable closeness between them all. Instead, they all had their roles, and they were all content to stay in them.

Draco looked at Neville apologetically, but Neville stood his ground for absolutely no reason. He had no idea what conversation had led to them rehashing ancient history, but he was hardly going to save Draco now.

"Oh fine!" Draco sighed dramatically. "I'll tell you, even though you've heard it a million times."

Frankie giggled but looked at him with such earnest interest that he actually did cave.

"Well," he started, "I think it went a little something like, 'has anyone seen a toad? A boy called Neville's lost one.' And then in walked your dad, looking very scared.'

"And it was the only time you've ever seen him afraid!" Frankie interrupted, eager to get to her favourite sentence in their little play.

"Well," cut in Neville, "I was very fond of Trevor, you see."

As though she had forgotten why she had asked, Frankie just giggled again and turned to Neville, "Da! I have to tell you about uncle Harry's hat this year! It was blue. And giant. And looked like a Sunday school hat. And when you looked at it, the peacocks on top DANCED."

"Oh my goodness," Neville said, lifting her down from the counter. "I'm sad I missed that. Albus must have been horrified."

"Oh, he was, but Lily and I thought it was the funniest one yet."

"How long is he actually going to keep that up?" Neville laughed, looking to Draco.

"The bet was until James leaves school," Draco grinned. "And you know Harry."

"Never one to back down to a fight with the Slytherin," Neville agreed.

"Nope," Draco said with a shrug. "This one was pretty good, though. You'll have to get him to show you. I still hate that trip though. I need a nap. Frankie, old bean, I'm going to nap in the garden. Care to join me?"

"Hammock?" she said hopefully, taking his hand again.

"Well, I suppose we could…" he pretended to hesitate.

"Yes!" she shouted, not even slightly fooled. "Da, Dad and I will be napping in the garden if you need us."

Neville laughed, patting her head and giving Draco the 'she's your daughter' look.

"Well okay,my lovelies," Neville conceded, "But I have work to do in the garden. I'll be quiet, but I do have to harvest those plums before they float away at the full moon tonight."

"That's okay," Frankie sighed, "You know, I miss Auntie Luna. Do you know where she is right now?"

"Peru," Neville said, patting her head, "With Uncle Rolf. She'll be back by your birthday though."

"Yes," added Draco with fondness, "With some other mad plant as a present no doubt."

"Hush you," Neville said, batting at Draco's head. He caught Neville's hand and led the way out into the sunshine flooded warmth of the garden.

His little family was in constant shift. Next year, Frankie and Lily would be in school too. The year after that, James would be finished. He had no idea where that time had gone, but it felt absolutely wonderful that it had passed as it had.

With living. And happiness. All because Harry Potter had talked to a scared little boy on the train.

* * *

_All was well._

\- J.K. Rowling


End file.
